Chester Halifax did a double-take to see five creatures emerge from a spot where two had gone in.

"Hello, what's this?" he said, standing up.

John shrugged and jerked a paw over his shoulder. "New recruits. Once they figured out we weren't vermin they were willin' t'come with. You know how these things go."

Chester smiled wanly. "Rather."

Tori was looking around the outfit. "Well, we're just about to leave now, so I guess just walk with somebody and it doesn't really matter where."

Branwen smilingly obliged, hefting her backpack and approaching the first wolf she came across. It was Ringo. She held out a paw.

"Hi, my name's Branwen. I guess I'll be marching with you." She grinned crookedly.

Ringo grinned back, secretly pleased that he'd finally discovered a wolf shorter than himself. "I'm Ringo, nice t'meet yeh. Where y'from, Branwen?"

At the customary bellow of "TOYDAAAA!!" from Gowran, the troupe began northwards again. Seluki and Tomé lingered at the back of the line. Seluki was deceptively weak-looking, but she soon surprised everyone with her endurance and good cheer, as she was also appeared misleadingly aloof. Tori walked alongside them during the morning, eager to hear their stories.

Tomé Svenavsurris, as it turned out, had been in an junior foreman in a fish distribution center. As the second child in a family of four, his older brother was of course sent to begin a merchant's career on a ship. Tomé, almost as an afterthought, was put in a position at one Leedsdown's secondary distributors.

"I'm still very thankful that my brother was away when Shang came, however," he said in his soft, peculiar voice. "That means that all of us got away."

At the invasion, Tomé forced his elderly parents out of the city with his two little sisters. He stayed behind with his business partners to defend their building in a determined little militia of about thirty. Being inexperienced, though, they were soon wiped out. Tomé was knocked unconscious, and later awoke when he felt himself engulfed by the flames of a nearby plundered cart. He was so sluggish that it took him several seconds to ward the fire off. "That's how I attained my new good looks," he half-joked, unconsciously touching his scorched shoulder.

In the aftermath of the invasion, he was found by Seluki and Branwen.

"Yes, we found a cart that hadn't been destroyed, and we looked for survivors," Seluki interceded. "We found a few others besides Tomé who were still alive, but they died soon afterwards."

"Mm-hmm. It was then that I had, ohhh, I don't know what to call it, a hallucination. A mouse appeared to me and said to me, 'With countryman comes the Red Princess, on her way to avenge the rest.' I didn't quite know what it meant until today." He bowed, smiling wryly. "So here's to you, Red Princess, for fulfilling the phantom mouse's prophecy."

"So, anything you particularly remember about this mouse?" Tori asked.

Tomé was nodded thoughtfully, looking off into space, when he stopped dead and stared. "Good gracious, there he is, twice!" Tori looked to where he was gawking. He was looking straight at Llawder and Michael.

Wynnstream chuckled. "Why, 'tis no wonder ye think yer seein' double. They're cousins twice removed, or so I gather."

Tomé turned abruptly once again. "An otter!" he beamed. "The most sensible beasts I ever met, the members of Farnell-on-the-Sea," he continued nostalgically. He and Wynnstream were soon engaged in conversation.

The Rubyhaer turned to the willowy gray-white dog walking beside her. "So that leaves you, Seluki. What's your tale?"

Her graceful head was turned slightly to the side, giving Tori a three-quarter profile. "I come from a land far to the west of here, three moons sailing across the sea. Shinoise, it is called. As you know, Leedsdowners were wayward and worldly when they go seafaring. They've been trading with us for ages. I'm the daughter of the most profitable merchant in Catal Hyunn, our capital. I was betrothed to Willis Tranbury when I was but a few seasons old. Did you know him?"

"Heavens yes!" Tori exclaimed. She chose her words carefully. "He was...."

Seluki laughed softly. "Oh, you can say it. He was a disgusting fat cow of a wolf. When I saw him for the first time, I begged the captain of my ship to take me back to my father and send someone else to marry in my place."

"What happened?" the wolf asked curiously.

Seluki sighed. "We were married for three weeks before this fox came. They were horrible. I'm almost glad that Shang came, in a selfish sort of way. It at least freed me of Willis. Tori, let me tell you this, betrothal rhymes with betrayal in more ways than one. Walking down that wedding aisle was the longest stretch of land in my life." She looked directly at Tori in a slightly disturbing way. "Were you ever betrothed? You know, royalty, for political reasons?"

Tori cocked her head thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think I ever was. As heir to the throne, I suppose I could have had anybeast I pleased."

* * *

In between his fevered dreams, George would occasionally hear voices. Many of them he recognized, but the most infuriating ones were those he knew he knew but could not place. Above them all suddenly drifted a hushed whisper.

"Such a frail body, but such an uncrushable soul. I don't think I've ever seen a creature fight so hard to recuperate in all my born days...."

"Me neither, Sister. 'E fainted just after Tori an' them left, an' 'e ain't wakened up since." Sister Joan and Merril. George felt himself harshly gasp for breath, but it was another body: he was standing in front of the mouse, shaking her by the shoulders, pointing to the next room over.

Joan had a peculiar expression on her face, as if she were remembering something. Her eyes widened. "Jakob!"

Michael's son had been struggling with his pneumonia for weeks on end. There were no signs of improvement at all.

The small room the pair of Infirmary keepers rushed into was virtually empty, save the bed and table holding the patient and his medicines. Jakob's eyes were half-open, and his lips were moving faintly.

"Marm?"

Merril turned at the voice. Tryffen stood at the doorway, holding a Long Patrol beret limply in his shaking paws. Her brown furrowed in confusion. "Tryff? What're you doin' 'ere?"

The hare looked bewildered. "I dunno, really. Antisle told me I had t'get back to Redwall, so here I am." What little color left in his face drained as he peered over the otter to see Jakob. "Though now I know why." He stepped forward falteringly. "Can I, come over?" Merril and Joan stepped aside: the hare kneeled beside the bed and grasped his friend's listless paw.

"Jacko?" he implored, using his teasing name for the mouse. "Jacko, can y'hear me? Come back, will you?" His voice crackled hopefully as Jakob's eyes flitted.

* * *

A strange mouse, yet altogether familiar, was standing before Michael as he looked into his small fire. Michael looked up with a start.

"Yes?" he asked.

The stranger stared clearly back at him. Then Martin bowed his head briefly. "I have someone who wishes to speak with you, friend."

A glimmer of recognition passed through him as Michael stiffened painfully. "Well, then, bring him out, by all means." An instinct, and the memory of his son lying in the infirmary, rasping for breath through drowning lungs, told him who it was.

Jakob stepped out from behind the black. He smiled through tears, and embraced his father.

"Dad, I miss you," he told him simply. The Champion of Redwall desperately searched for words, but none would surface. "This is Martin," Jakob continued. "He said he'd take care of me until we find Mom."

Martin smiled, just a sliver. "You won't be needing me for quite some time, you know. Don't worry, he'll be fine."

Michael stared in agony. "Hyacinth," he whispered, uttering the name of his dead wife for the first time in more than three seasons' time. He then smiled ironically, heavy with affection. He reached out and ruffled Jakob's headfur playfully. "Tell your mum I miss her when you see her."

Jakob nodded, and grinned. Michael wasn't quite sure he knew what was happening. He reached forward, and hugged his father one last time. "We'll be seeing each other some sunny day soon," the warrior mouse promised softly. Jakob and Martin faded, leaving Michael sitting on a makeshift log bench, stunned. He looked over at Llawder, standing on his left. "My son has just died," he declared in a disbelieving tone. Llawder nodded, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I know." He had seen.

* * *

Jakob's eyes opened fully. He looked up at Tryffen. He beamed happily.

"Tryffen?"

The hare leaned forward, tears of joy beading his face. "Yes, ol' chap, it's me!"

The mouse struggled to keep his eyes open. He continued smiling peacefully. "Hello..."

* * *

Samhain was increasingly worried about her friend Rivenna. The shame of her disgrace weighed down upon her heavily, and it showed as she lagged at the back of the body of Gaels, ate alone, and remained silent for much longer than Samhain would have thought. Finally, she could take it no more. As she marched beside her, she leaned close a little bit and began singing a favorite ditty of theirs.

"Blackbird singin' in the dead of night....take these broken wings an' learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise..."

Rivenna broke a glimmer of a smile. "Y'fraud," she sniffled, "that's one o' Paul's songs."

Samhain grinned widely and continued goading her for a laugh. " 'All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die,' says the man next to me out of nowhere apropos of nothing. He says his name's William but I'm sure he's Bill or Billy, Mac or Buddy, he's plain ugly to me..."

Rivenna was trying desperately to hold on to her grief, but the absurd lyrics burst through her misery and had her giggling soon. Bocton turned around with playful disappointment on his face.

"Oy, Rivenna, ye just lost me half a ration o' soup just there! Me an' Kelso had a bet goin' that you'd crack long after this!"

Rivenna wiped her eyes. "Sorry, Bocton. Mayhap ye just want me t'go divin' back into me depression for your sake? I wouldn't want you t'be starvin' on us, now."

"Ahh, well, 'tis only Craig Diamondfoot's! More gain fer you, Bocton, t'lose that soup, I'd say!" Caerleon remarked.

Craig shrugged modestly. "I'm no Eirann, I know. Sorry, lads. But fer that I'll give ye all a sleepin' potion that'll give ye nightmares worse'n havin' t'put up with Kelso's fishbreath!"

Sheryl felt incredibly alone in the group. The wolves were speaking mostly Gaelic, and when she tried to intervene with a joke or two, to try to make herself pleasant, it never worked. Finally, she slowed down to walk with Osric, the Leedsdown survivor, and asked, "Are they always this mean to each other?"

Osric shook his head. "They do it because they respect all their fellow creatures highly, and also don't consider vermin worthy enough to be the butts of their jokes. It's all quite good-natured, really." He cracked a smile. "You have to learn how to it proper, though. Here, like this." He threw his head over his shoulder and whispered something to Owen Rannonteg, their Poet. Owen grinned, and replied quietly. Osric turned back to the mouse. "There, we've got a good fire goin' now. I said that I thought for a bit Rivenna was going to change her name to Kircentrest, which is a type of scrub grass that grow in Aiyar's bogs. Owen told me that now she was back on 'er feet, she could grace us with her melodious screechin'. Now Dyfed'll goad her into singing something, probably too bawdy for me t'translate cleanly to you!"

Sheryl smiled. "I supposed sometime that I ought to learn some Gaelic. It's a pain in the neck to be clueless when your language is the vast minority!"

* * *

"Ahhhh, now Samhain, that's one with a voice!"

There was a chorus of 'aye's from the lonely group of bachelor males poking a meager fire with sticks. After the marching, they'd complained to themselves about the sudden lack of pretty girls to flirt with. Gowran leaned back and stretched luxuriously.

"Yeeaaahhh, well, she had a nice song she'd just written when she left. She was singin' it to me as of late. 'Ode To My Fam'ly' or something. It were fair nice."

Silence fell over the wolves. They all were thinking of Tori's own ode to her family, which they'd heard her singing that morning.

Just before high noon, they'd come upon a clearing in the woods. Noel and Liam had stopped dead in the middle of marching, staring and scared stiff.

"Is this where it was?" Noel asked his brother, eyes wide.

Liam had nodded, his paw straying to his chest. "Yeah, I think so." With slightly morbid curiosity, he said aloud, "I wonder if she's still there."

Noel looked at him. "Who?"

"You remember, that she-wolf who told us t'run. Let's go over an' check, sorta discreet-like. We don't want 'em freakin' out. Poor thing, maybe we could stop an' bury 'er if we can." They waded through column, drawing some glances and curses.

The two Mancunians crouched down by bush edging a grove of trees. Noel nodded gravely. "Yup, that's 'er. Strange, thinkin' back on it. I woulda recognized that anywhere."

"What?"

Noel pointed unconsciously. "That leather strap. Musta been a dead lovely quiver once: lookit that design pressed innit."

Tori's eyes widened. "MENA!! Lefrah fen menax!" she called to Gowran, who, puzzled, roared out the order for them to stop. Tori's eyes were downcast as she looked at the bleached wolf skeleton lying pitifully before them. It was half filled in with loam, and partly dismembered through the melting of snow and scavengers' ravenges. She stared at the skeleton in mute horror, then quietly stood up.

"This was my sister Leah," she confirmed quietly. "That's her quiver strap, and here's a ring my mother gave her for her first-score birthday."

It was obvious that moving would be impaired for the day. Those who had clustered behind the Rubyhaer slowly backed away, nodding knowingly. Aelfwald announced that lunch would be ready soon: they could pack in for a midday rest, for the sun was growing hotter. They retreated back into the forest, John laying a paw on her shoulder and quietly comforting, and then telling her where they'd be.

"Take y'time, sweetheart."

Rocking back and forth in a curled position, Tori had, trance-like, begun to sing.

"Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens.
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on.
I get a little warm in my heart
when I think of winter.
I put my hands in my father's glove.

I run off where the drifts get deeper.
Sleeping Beauty trips me with a frown.
I hear a voice, 'you must learn
to stand up
for yourself, 'cause I can't always be around.'

He says,
'When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?

'Cause things are gonna change so fast.'
All the white horses are still in bed.
I tell you that I'll always want you near.
You say that things change, my dear.

Boys get discovered as winter melts.
Flowers competing for the sun.
Year go by and I'm here still waiting,
withering where some snowman was.

'Mirror Mirror where's the Crystal Palace?'
But I only can see myself.
Skating around the truth who I am.
'But I know, Dad, the ice is getting thin.'

Hair is gray, and the fires are burning.
So many dreams on the shelf.
You say 'I wanted you to be proud of me.'
I always wanted that myself.

'When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?
'Cause things are gonna change so fast.'

All the white horses have gone ahead.
I tell you that I'll always want you near.
You say that things change, my dear.
Never change. Mmmmmm-mmmmmmm........"

She took a staggered breath, and stood up, having paid simple tribute to her sister. We're getting closer, she thought. Nearer and nearer and nearer.

Leah's gently smiling face flashed in front of her. It seemed to beckon her. Tori leaned her head over, and listened to her whisper something. Then she smiled.

We are happy. We're all together, and we patiently await your arrival.

We are getting closer, she thought. Nearer and nearer and nearer.

* * *

"Bah!" Shang spat. "Get yourselves out of my sight! All of you! You too, you soft-bellied, whining weasels! Out!" She kicked after her fleeing daughters in a high temper, snarling and baring her teeth bad-temperedly. Tatyanna glared over her shoulder at her mother, and turned to Anastasia at her side.

"Someday I think I'd genuinely like to fix that fossilized old witch."

Anastasia nodded in agreement. "I'll drink to that. All she ever does is boss us around! I'm sick to the teeth of it all, by Hellgates I am!"

Tatyanna put on a mocking face, which sent her little sister into frenetic giggles. "Ohh, I shall avenge those horrible wolves! All wolves are evil! La de dah de dah, la de dah de dah! Pfah! We burned half the wolves in Tundralake out of house and home, and then we killed everyone else!"

"That was quite a sight, all those bodies dropping into the ocean over the cliffs like that," Anastasia reminisced nostalgically. "I should have that commissioned as a painting once Mother sets up a palace."

Tatyanna stared at her incredulously. "You don't seriously believe she'll ever settle down, do you? Demons will drive her to destroy all the wolves in the world before she ever conquers some measly stone building and rests! Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that, sister." She tapped the side of her head with a perfectly-shaped claw. "That's why I've got a plan. You won't catch me tramping around in this mess for the rest of my days. Ever hear tell within the army of Rydahl the Hunter?"

Anastasia looked sideways at her older sibling. "What are you getting at?"

Tatyanna grinned. "Something Mother will never know about. Not for eternity!"

* * *

The monstrous wolverine sat crouched upon a tree stump at the edge of camp, listening to Tatyanna's plea for understanding. He eyed them suspiciously.

"How's it that I'm not knowin' if'n yer mother sent ye here t'test mah loyalty?" he questioned, his strange, sing-song accent betraying his descent.

Rydahl had been aptly named by his parents. In his native, ice-bound homeland of Graschtentukg, he was famed throughout the land as a mercenary, spy, and most of all, hunter of large, strong, and/or cunning beasts. He boasted of presenting the slain polar bear's skin to Shang upon his joining of her band, long back before anybeast could validly say they remembered. That polar bear had been an Angliaterryn lord, he bragged: Iofur Olfafsson. He had killed him in an invasion on the land, and while the wolverines had been beaten back, that part was "a well-kept secret."

Not well enough, however. "I know the truth about that skin you gave my mother, Rydahl," Tatyanna pried, leaning close to the barbarically-clad fighter. "You found that old, mothy carcass in an ice floe, washed up on a shore in Banglinthurst. There never even has been an Iofur Olfafsson as an Angliaterryn lord! Lucky for you my mother was ignorant of that. I congratulate you on that." Rydahl gripped the handle of his strange-looking weapon tightly, bleeding his paws on the chunks of marble hewn into the wooden handle of the semi-club, just below the gruesome blade.

The crafty Arctic fox, miserably small in comparison to the hulking wolverine, continued obliviously. "Now, I have no doubts about your fighting skills--in fact, they were highly recommended by many of my informants. I want you to help me find a way to kill my mother. It doesn't have to be now. It doesn't even have to be until we crush Tori Rubyhaer and her little rebellion, when we can make a good excuse for cutting her down in a confusing fray. But I know your brains, Rydahl. And if you were smart, you'd do as I asked you before I tell Maida Openmouth about your little, um, shall we say..." She looked up at him innocently. "Now what should we call it? Taxidermy?"

Without warning, Rydahl thundered to his feet and swung his curious weapon into the ground before the vixen, barely missing her feet, which she impulsively drew back just in time, the swift, natural reflexes of a fox her only savior. Anastasia jumped in her seat, but she was amazed to see Tatyanna's suddenly composed face calm, barely moving a muscle. Rydahl narrowed his dark eyes.

"Ahright, fox, ye've got me pinned. But I want a fair reward fer this act. My reputation's enough for the moment, but killing Shang Widowmaker deserves loot, and power. Much power." Shrewdly, Tatyanna leaned her head over to his ears and whispered something coyly. He began to chuckle, and rubbed his blunt paws together briefly, nodding. She'd said just one word: "Half."

Pertly, she arose and bid him good day, nodding for her little sister to come with her. "You see," she explained as they meandered back to the tents, "a silver tongue can buy you anything. Harpie gave me my bane and my blessing: that's the boon. Shang's the other, and she'll be gone within two moons, you just see if she's not!"

* * *

Dyfed was in a foul mood. He swung at the underbrush with a walking stick he'd chanced upon, muttering obscure curses. Caerleon turned around on him.

"Hey, stoppit, yeh fool! Yer leavin' a path clear as day fer anybeast followin' uz!"

"Who'd be followin' us?" Dyfed shot back. " 'Tis the dead center of nowhere! There's not a livin' beastie fer miles an' leagues around! We're even carryin' bloody torches, in th'middle o'night! There can't be naught here. How I ever allowed myself to get talked inter this, I'll never know!"

"It's because ye can't refuse th'Rampek when 'e asks you somethin', brother," Dysart reminded him quietly. "Don't worry, we'll make it back in time for th'big fight, if that's what you're after."

Dyfed snorted. "Fates'n'seasons, this is dull!"

Bocton, walking beside him, was squinting at something. "I think that might just end right about now, Dyffie. D'you see that? Don't look real conspicuous, try not to let it know we know it's there."

Out of the side of his eyes, Dyfed skeptically glanced into the woods. A pair of eyes were shining through the trees. He drew his breath in quickly. " 'Tis a weasel."

Bocton nodded slowly. "Aye, so it is. Awright, let's go up front, very slowly, and talk t'Sheryl. She ought t'know 'bout this." The pair gradually sped up their pace until they passed the others and reached Sheryl, conversing pleasantly with Kelso. They watched the weasel eyes following them through the forest: he was still there.

"Sheryl, I think you must know--" Bocton began.

A heavy crash to the right alerted the whole group. " 'Tis a weasel, miss, followin' uz!" Dyfed cried. "We've got t'get 'im, afore he notifies 'is cronies!"

Sheryl lifted her torch up high, shouting, "Okay, some of you come with me! Help me chase him down!"

The weasel was quite clumsy: his choking gasps from exertion reached the fleet Aiyarians' ears plainly. They began shouting commands to each other in Gaelic, belying his location with every yell.

"There, there, in there 'e is!" Rivenna called urgently, and chased him into a small enclave. Sheryl rushed up, and handed her a torch for a better look. The Gaels who'd accompanied them in the chase leaned forward for a better glance of their prowler.

The weasel was curled up in a corner, his head tucked underneath his arms, trembling violently and holding out a pendant on a necklace in shaking claws. It was a sphere of blue stone, attached to a sturdy leather cord. The wolves followed Sheryl curiously: their stalker was completely unarmed and was babbling hysterically, "Cele veltryn, cele veltryn, cele veltryn, cele veltryn!!"

Rivenna gasped behind her, and Sheryl turned around to see the six Gaels talking to each other urgently. "What is all this?" she asked, slightly angrily.

Samhain spoke up. "A cele veltryn, miss, a friend. We mustn't harm 'im."

The mouse's brow furrowed. "Him, a friend? What are you on about?" She turned back to the frightened weasel. "Who are you? What's a cele veltryn and what's your name?"

"O'Rielle, miss," he sobbed in a strangled squeak, still shaking. "Though me parents named me Gatorshank." He slowly slid to his feet, stammering his explanation while still pressed hard against the slick cave walls, avoiding Sheryl's torch. "Y-y'see, what these good wolves're talkin' 'bout i-is-is-is, there's a village of us who ain't b-bad. Not mean-tempered, you unnerstan'. So when we wouldn't become no s-searat or corsair or nothin' an' such, they gave us one o'these," here he held out the pendant again, "an' told us t'find Cele Veltryn. Nobeast else knows quite where it is, so it's one heck of a journey. A lot don't make it." He pointed to Kelso, who happened to be nearest, and laughed nervously. " 'Tis one of the Gaels' own names, m-means 'good vermin'."

"He speaks th'truth, Sheryl," Bocton put in on O'Rielle's behalf. "He ain't leadin' uz astray. Weasel here ain't got a mean bone in 'is body."

A patter of rain and paws behind them drew curious glances. Caerleon stood in the rain, with the three who'd stayed behind. He gestured to the weather.

"I was just gonna suggest we find some shelter. Is this where we'll stay tonight?"

Samhain looked over her shoulder, and replied, "Nah, I think we've got another place, a better 'un by far. O'Rielle, would it be deemed permissible fer uz t'stay with thee for a day or so?"

The weasel nodded ardently. "Yes'm, ma'am! Foltren'll be glad t'have civilized creatures with us! Foller me!" With a beckon of his claws, he slipped past them and cleverly led them through the jungle.

* * *

O'Rielle was a much better tracker when he wasn't so terrified, and within no time, the group arrived in a tiny hamlet of a village. The houses were few but well-built. The road looked something like a tiny racetrack, with a ring line with houses on the outside, and a small cabin-like affair in the center. This was what O'Rielle led them into.

It was slightly disturbing, just a little chilling to see the stoat and the pine marten drinking together, trading jokes and stories just like the mice back at Redwall or the Gaels during campdown. They too wore the spherical blue pendants. When they noticed the bedraggled weasel standing proudly to the side, giving Sheryl and her wolves first priority to the sanctuary, the pair jumped to their feet and bowed, smiling.

"Hey, O'Rielle, what'd you pick up in th'woods today? My goodness, welcome, friends! Sit down, please!" the pine marten greeted. "I'm Sablesen, and this is our mayor, Foltren."

Sheryl felt awkward curtsying. Foltren leaned forward, his sinewy body somehow not as menacing as the other vermin Sheryl had met in her short lifetime.

"What's on your mind, hon? Strange, are we?"

Sheryl felt her tongue get the better of her, and she blurted out, "It's very strange, sir, not having you as an enemy! I mean, here I am, having a civil conversation with-with, a stoat! It's very strange, if you'll pardon me saying." She immediately clapped her paws to her mouth in shock.

Foltren laughed, and momentarily held an injured look on his almost kindly face. "Ermine, madame, I beg you please, ermine!"

Sablesen came back from the storerooms, balancing a tray of drinks. "Here, settle down. Some ale'll be of help to yeh. You must be soaked stiff! The weather can get quite unpredictable this time of year, I'm afraid."

The wolves, famous for hatred of enemies, surprisingly enough were totally at ease with Foltren, Sablesen, and O'Rielle. Sheryl felt something tugging at her conscience to trust these vermin, but it was against all of her common sense. She watched as Rivenna relayed their story. The stoat sat nodding understandingly.

"The otters at Corbridge could get 'em to Mohaercrest quick enough, couldn't they?" Sablesen put forward.

Foltren's head was resting in his claws. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, thinking. "Probably, probably. But then there's the question of poor Bryn Mawr."

"Bryn Mawr?" Samhain repeated the strange name.

Foltren nodded. "Yes. Her husband was killed by roving coyotes about a moon ago. She's been mourning constantly, and the sight of one of us wouldn't be taken too kindly, even though she knows us for who we are."

O'Rielle piped up, "But ain't she further on down the Dartmouth, past Corbridge?"

"Well, yes, but some of us are bound to accompany Sheryl, and then Rivenna and her people to go fight with Tori Rubyhaer." Foltren looked up at Owen. "I've heard of this Shang Widowmaker. They're starting to call her 'the Coldhearted' around here. I wouldn't doubt it. One of hers just joined us. If you want a word with 'er, she's pretty near death, unfortunately. If y'want any information, I'd go quick."

"I'll take care of it," Samhain said quietly, and slipped out.

* * *

Samhain instinctively felt her lip curl in disdain as she crept into the makeshift hospital room. A fox lay gasping underneath the crisp white sheets: a ferret was trying to doctor to her what he could, but both he and the southern, red fox standing next to the cot holding the injured vixen's paw knew she wasn't too far from Dark Forest Gates. The Arctic fox's eyes were rolling wildly--staring, terrified--around the room.

"Ribsy! Ribsy!" she shrieked when she saw Samhain. "Ribsy, ye've come t'take me away, have ye?"

"I'm not Ribsy, ma'am," Samhain replied evenly, edging towards the distraught hordebeast. The vixen cringed away.

"Ye'll not take me with you! I won't go! If Shang sees me with you, I'm crowmeat fer sure!"

The ferret leaned close. "This isn't Ribsy, Malheart. It's Marcey. He's killed Shang: she's gone now. You can go with him," he assured her. Samhain smiled a bit.

"Yeah, I'm Marcey, Malheart. How're things farin' at th'camp?"

The vixen coughed, and her eyes began to flicker. "Ohhh, we've been movin' north again, Marcey. Shang's off t'kill more wolves. Insane creature! When'll she figger it out?" She sighed. "So she's dead, eh? One of th'daughters, I'll bet. Treacherous liddle toads, both of 'em. I 'member my pore ole mother tellin' me 'bout them as babies. First thing Tatyanna did was pull'n wings off'n butterflies." Malheart looked up into Samhain's face. " 'Tis good t'be seein' you once again."

Samhain leaned close. "Rest easy, matey. We've got a while t'go afore we're free."

Malheart leaned back against the pillow, soaked with her feverish sweat. "I'll see you in th'mornin'...." The vixen grew quiet, and it was soon apparent that morning for her would be spent in other places. The ferret drew back from the body, laying the tattooed arm the fox had held next to her. He wiped the back of a paw against his forehead wearily.

"A pity, we tried t'save 'er, but there wasn't much hope once she started ranting on and on about deadbeasts she was seein' before her." The red fox slumped into his seat, staring at Malheart's still corpse.

"I've never seen a dead person before, Gandreth. Do they always look like they're sleeping?"

Gandreth, the ferret, half-nodded. "When they die in bed, yes. You'd have to ask some of the Immigrants about those from a battlefield, though. I was born here."

Samhain sat down on another chair and propped an elbow on her leg. "So, tell me about what the vixen was saying b'fore I came in. I'd like to know what's happening with Shang's horde."

"Why is it you want to know?" the fox asked suspiciously.

"Larkspur! You're acting like a vermin!" Gandreth rebuffed with a stern glance.

"Oh, it's quite alright," Samhain shrugged. "I just want t'know what some friends of mine are up against, if they'll meet soon or what."

"What friends?"

"Tori Rubyhaer and her clan."

"You're with Tori Rubyhaer?!" the fox, Larkspur interrupted, gleaming.

"Aye," Samhain replied, "she's a good friend o' mine."

"Wow!" Larkspur yipped. "Tori Rubyhaer! I've been hearing a lot about her!"

Samhain grinned at the youngster's enthusiasm, and leaned forward. "Well, d'you want to hear more?"