He'd been on the road for most of the day, hoping that the half-decent weather would hold out until he could find someplace warm to rest for the night. Unfortunately, things seemed to be going poorly for a start.

It started to rain while he was walking, around sundown, and Will hunched his shoulders miserably and continued on his way, steps quickening as the raindrops ran down his head and into his eyes, soaking his fur and generally making him look like a drowned rat - mouse. Hoping that the food in the bag wouldn't be soaked, Will hurried to find shelter. In the distance was St. Ninian's, a small stone building tucked in the shade of the trees.

He ran towards it, accidentally hitting himself in the shins with the quarterstaff. Cursing and hopping painfully as he went, Will hopped over the decrepit, rusting iron fence around the building and limped to the door. It was always open; the only people who went to Ninian's anymore were young Abbey creatures looking for some privacy.

No one went there when it was raining, because the roof leaked and it was cold and generally unpleasant.

Taking a deep breath, Will walked into the small foyer of the church, and propped the staff against the wall. Shaking himself thoroughly, he picked up the staff again, and went further into the church. His feet squished uncomfortably and made a loud echo in the silence and stillness of St. Ninian's. Through the entrance he walked, and into the tiny chapel, with its rows of pews knocked out of their neat line by disuse and age.

He shrugged the pack off of his shoulders and leaned the quarterstaff against the armrest. Shivering, Will sat down on the hard wood seat, and curled up against it. He was not religious by nature but it still seemed vaguely disrespectful to drip water all over the already warped seats. Sighing, he was about to settle down and wait out the rain when there was a small cough from across the room.

Startled, and just a bit frightened, Will sat up. He waited for a second and then got up, taking off his shoes so that they didn't squish as he snuck over to the source of the noise. There was a lump of blanket and clothes curled up next to the font, and, hesitantly, Will tapped it on what he assumed to be a shoulder area. "Hello?"

With a yelp of surprise, something surged upward and struck out wildly and randomly about it. One of the blows, a lucky one, hit Will in the face. Instinctively he moved in to toss the creature over, but with a smooth motion, the animal twisted, and Will found himself flying head over heels. He landed in a heap against the wall, breath knocked out of him, with a ferret's masked features peering closely into his face.

"Don't kill me," he told the ferret.

"Kill you?" an incredulous voice asked, as the hob extended a hand to help him up, "Why would I want to do that?"

"Uh, well," Will replied, accepting the aid, "First you attacked me, and then you threw me against the wall... That's generally not a sign of friendly caring, eh?"

"You startled me," the ferret said placidly, dusting off his paws, "It's understandable I'd be a little frightened."

Will touched his ribs gently, making sure they weren't broken. "Remind me not to frighten you again."

"Certainly," the ferret said. He cocked his head to the side, examining the sodden mouse standing there, and raised an eyebrow. "You're an Abbeybeast, by the look of you - what in the nine gates of Hell are you doing out here?"

"I'm not an Abbeybeast any more," Will explained, "I ran away."

The ferret stared at him for a second, then started to laugh, loud guffaws that sounded strange in the church's halls. It was as though all the sound was being leeched of its resonance and instead fell flatly upon the ears. The laughter was no different, and the hob seemed to realize it. He stopped abruptly and looked at Will, his face twitching in the effort not to giggle.

"What?" Will asked, annoyed.

"You - ran away?" the ferret asked, "Like I haven't heard that one before. They all turn back in the end."

"Who are you, anyway?" Will demanded, examining the ferret more carefully. He looked young, Will realized, maybe three years older, eighteen or so. He was tall, and seemed to be made mostly out of elbows, knees, and other awkward joints.

"Oliver Erskine at your service," the ferret said, tugging mockingly on his forelock. "And who might you be, my young runaway?"

"I'm Will." They shook paws, and Oliver gestured towards his small nest.

"I've found enough debris and branches in here to start a fire," he told Will, "It's rather chilly in here, don't you think?"

"Yes. I'm freezing - it's not the cold, really, but I was soaked on the walk to the church."

"A fire's just the ticket then," Oliver said cheerfully, and set about arranging the tinder and branches in a suitable manner. He soon had a small blaze flickering away, and it threw shifting shadows on the walls behind them, huge, grotesque silhouettes. The ferret made a cushion of his pack and blanket, and sat down comfortably enough upon it.

"Excuse me for asking," Will said, "But I couldn't help noticing, your voice-"

"Doesn't sound like a normal vermin's, does it?" Oliver finished.

"Well, yes."

The hob shrugged. "I don't know. I always thought that the accents most of us ferrets have sound so uneducated - it's really like putting yourself out in the open for prejudice, it is. Woodlanders're less likely to mistrust you if you sound like they do."

"Oh."

"So, first a bite to eat, and then stories, perhaps?"

"Sounds like a plan," Will agreed, fishing around in his pack for some bread. "I'm sorry, I don't really have enough to share."

"Perfectly fine; I'm self-sufficient."

They ate their meager meal in silence. Will broke off tiny pieces of the bread, wanting to make it last. He didn't know when food would be available to him again, and he realized that he should have taken more to begin with. Sighing, Will concluded that he wasn't as smart as he'd thought at first.

"So why did you leave?" Oliver asked, mouth full, "Seems like the Abbey's a great place. Food. Shelter. Disgusting nice staff."

"It's boring. I... Don't have an interesting story to tell."

"That's perfectly all right, I'm sure you'll find one eventually."

"And what about you? What possible reason would a ferret have for being near Redwall?"

Oliver shrugged and hunched his shoulders forward, warming his paws in front of the fire before replying. "I was run out of my Clan."

"Er, why?"

"For being insane," Oliver said placidly, and put another twig onto the fire.

---

Will stared at him, and pondered whether or not to edge away. "Insane?"

"Oh, it's not a violent thing," the ferret reassured him. "I'm not quite sure how to explain it myself."

"You could try..."

"I could," he agreed, "But I don't think it would do a lot of good."

"Oh."

"Don't worry," Oliver said cheerfully, "I'm not going to jump at your throat. But if I'm a bit odd, then, well, you'll know why, at least according to Clan Erskine."

"Right. So, ah, where are you headed?"

"I don't know. South, I suppose, until I have to go one way or the other."

"Wouldn't recommend south west," Will mumbled around a mouthful of bread, "I don't think the Badger Lord would like that."

"No, he doesn't seem a very friendly chap," Oliver mused, "But that's the curse of being a ferret, I suppose. Instant mistrust."

"That's not true."

"Generally."

"Well, I didn't, did I?"

"No... Come on, though, you have to admit that woodlanders are paranoid."

"That's exaggerating a little, isn't it?"

"No, not really. You're a mouse; you've never been outside of the Abbey walls. It's true, you don't know -how- many times someone's kicked me out of an Inn because I'm a ferret."

"We're not all like that. I'm sure Caolán wouldn't've."

Oliver shrugged. "No use arguing, anyway." He got up and walked over to the thin arrow-slit windows that formed neat rows along the walls of the church. "Moon's out and it's stopped raining. I don't know about you, but I've had a long day on the road and I'm tired." He went back to the fire and picked up the blanket, constructing a makeshift bed on the pew. "Good night."

"Night." Will flipped the top-flap of the pack up, sending small droplets of water pattering onto the stone, and pulled out his own blanket, setting his cloak on another pew to dry during the night. Although he hadn't walked a great distance that day, he was soon fast asleep and none the worse for the hard plank supporting his weight.

---

He flailed his arms frantically as someone shook him awake, gripping his ear painfully between claws. "Wha-- huh?" he exclaimed, attempting to hop to his feet without doing damage to his ear.

"William Abbeymouse! Exactly -what- are you doing?"

Will's groggy eyes focused eventually on the squirrel matron holding on to his ear and chittering furiously at him. "Ah, er, Goody Merryweather, good morning..."

He could see Oliver Erskine sitting on the top of a pew about ten feet away, watching and smirking. He made no effort to help his new acquaintance. "Friend of yours, Will?" he asked lazily, yawning and eyeing Goody Merryweather suspiciously.

Goody Merryweather let go of Will's ear and glared at him. "What are you doing in St. Ninian's at this hour? What is this -vermin- doing here?" She did not seem to be afraid of Oliver, merely angry. "You're mixing with bad company, you are."

"I'm..." Will thought fast. "I was picking dock leaves for Mother Verbena and I got caught in the rain. I didn't know -he- was here."

Oliver smirked at the squirrel as she glared, bowing sarcastically to her. "Top o' th' mornin' ter yer," he said, in his thickest vermin accent. "Marm."

"You, be quiet," she grunted, and turned on Will again. "I expect to see you back in the Abbey by the end of the day! Or I'll come after you and tan your hide!"

"Yes, Goody Merryweather," Will said.

The Goodwife sniffed and swept from the Church, back into the forest from which she had emerged. Will breathed a sigh of relief and set to packing up his supplies. If she grew suspicious, he had to be out of range by nightfall. Sparing that, he'd have to be well hidden... Sighing, Will cursed his bad luck. "Why the sudden accent?" he asked.

"Eh," said Oliver, "She expected an uneducated lout. Who am I to deny her one?"

"You are a strange creature," Will informed him.

"It's been said. So you're leaving?"

"Yes, I have to be down the road before she thinks to go and tell the Abbot."

"Well... I hate to burst your self-confidence bubble, but don't you think that if they'd wanted to find you, they'd've started looking already? Maybe they're letting you go?"

"No use taking chances."

Oliver gathered up his things, as well. "Do you even know where you're going?"

"I guess I'll just follow the path, eh? Logical."

"I'm going the same way. It'd be more interesting if we went together. What d' you say?"

"Uh... Sure."

"Great," Oliver said, bouncing up and down on his heels, "I hate traveling alone. There's no one to yell at me to stop singing."

---

St. Ninian's church moldered slowly into dust under the leaves of Mossflower. It was a study in slow decay, as the timeworn stones crumbled over each other. There was a sense of eyes watching, staring in mute terror at the prospect of their own destruction. The surreal silence was a part of the church's identity as well, centuries upon centuries of somber church mice going about their business without a smile, only a sense of duty.

Oliver and Will did not fit, both of them felt uncomfortable that morning, as they left the Church, and Will glanced over his shoulder once, sure that something was watching him.

As they stepped onto the path a breath of wind stirred the trees, almost like a sigh.

---

Will fell into the motion of walking, one foot in front of the other. The easy movement carried him forward, neither fast nor slow, merely a relentless onward push. The road was wide and still muddy from the rain, although it began to dry out when the sun reappeared and beat down on the exposed path. Oliver was uncharacteristically silent and withdrawn; Will made no effort to talk to the ferret, it was a fairly comfortable quiet.

There was a fetid stench in the air. Will frowned, sniffed, and glanced sideways. "Urgh. That stinks."

"Aye," Oliver agreed, "But where's it coming from?"

They paused, each glancing in an opposite direction. Will walked over to the side of the road and stepped onto the grass, shading his eyes with his paw. "I think - over there! There's something crumpled up by that rock."

"Careful," Oliver said, "You don't know what it is."

Will waved the knife cheerfully in the air. "I'm already a step ahead of you."

The older creature snorted and moved forward. As they drew closer Will covered his mouth with his hand to keep from gagging. The smell was even more intense as they went towards the sad bundle of rags by the rock. Will swallowed to keep his lunch down, and grew even more uncomfortable when he noticed a buzzing noise.

The source of the noise was evident - flies. A black cloud of them; crawling all over and into the rags. Oliver went up to the huddled form and, quite heedless of the insects, turned it over. Will almost lost his lunch again when he saw what it was, the body of a squirrel, the face caked with blood, pus, and dirt, and covered in swarming flies. One of its eyes was missing; instead, the gaping socket was filled with flies. He took an instinctive step back, somewhat appalled at the apparent calmness with which Oliver was handling the thing.

"Hmm," the ferret commented, "Squirrel, maybe forty years old? Hasn't been dead long, though, or there'd be maggots instead." He noticed Will's stare, and blinked. "What?"

"You - it..."

"Oh," Oliver said, grinning sardonically. "I forgot about your sheltered upbringing." He stood up and nudged the squirrel with his foot. The flies, disturbed, swirled angrily around the body.

"I've never seen anything like that before," Will muttered, aware that he was going to start babbling, "One of the Elders died once and I found her but she wasn't like that and there weren't any flies, it just looked like she was sleeping, nothing at all like that..." The smell was overpowering.

"Here, come on," Oliver said, not unkindly, and gestured away from the squirrel. "Let's go. Nothing we can do to help that one."

"How can you be so...?"

"Cold?"

"Yes. I suppose."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," Oliver Erskine said, "Really. Look, Will, people die, and it's no use going to pieces over it."

Will made a face as they walked away from the body. "That doesn't mean it isn't horrible when it happens." He glanced over his shoulder. "It just feels like we should do something. Bury him, or..."

"Do you have a shovel?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Then how are you planning to bury it?"

"I... Didn't think about that. But it still seems wrong to leave him there."

They were back on the road now, heading south once more. "Once you've been on the road for a while, you'll understand it's no use worrying about what's gone and done. You'll figure out it's best to live for what's now, otherwise, what's the point in being here?"

Caolán wasn't like that, thought Will. What he said was, "Still - whoever that squirrel was, it shouldn't have been there. The woods around Redwall are a peaceful place and there shouldn't be dead bodies lying around..."

"Keep your eyes open, then," Oliver said, "Who knows, maybe there's a new big bad in town?"

"Yes, I'm sure that's very likely."

"Say what you like, it's obvious it didn't die of natural causes."

"Yes..." Will replied. "Maybe it's a new horde trying to conquer Redwall."

"That's another thing I don't understand," Oliver said, as they walked, "Why do warlords always try to conquer that place? Aren't they happy enough with their own castles? Why d' they need another one?"

"Don't ask me, you're the ferret."

"But I'm a -logical- ferret. Slight difference, there. For instance, I didn't jump at your throat yelling, 'Argh, matey, give me yer treasure!' Take note of that."

Will laughed, especially at the amusing mental image. "Even if you -did- jump at someone screaming that, they'd probably just knock you over or sit on you, and then you'd be done."

"Oh?" Oliver asked, raising an eyebrow, "I threw you against the wall, didn't I?"

"Fluke. I wasn't prepared."

"Hmmph."

"Really."

"You just, ah, tell yourself that."

"Fine, you're not a skinny weakling."

"Good to see you've admitted it."

"So... where is this Clan Erskine located, anyway?"

"Oh," Oliver said, "We're in the North." He grinned, "And we look on all you soft southerners as a bunch of pansies."

"You should tell that to our Abbey Warrior, Caolán."

"Hmm. The next time I've any desire to be killed merited on my wonderful, roguishly handsome looks, I'll find out."

"Was it nice, there?"

"Oh yes, I suppose. If you like mind-numbing boredom alternating with almost constant war."

"War? With who?"

"Other clans," Oliver shrugged, "There was always something to fight about... The MacAllisters were on our land; we were trespassing on the property of the Flannigans... Both of my uncles died in battle before their twentieth birthdays."

"That sounds..."

"Barbaric? Possibly. It's just another way of life."

"Completely different from Redwall... Instead of battles, we've got feasts at the drop of a hat."

"That sounds..."

"Dull? Definitely."

Oliver snorted a laugh, and raised his eyebrows. "You're not bad, kit. Stick with me, and you'll probably live out the year."

"What, you don't think I can't take care of myself?"

"You can't," Oliver said bluntly, "Or, at least, not right now. You're soft; you've lived all your life in that building with everything you needed provided for you."

"I've been training with the Warrior," Will said, peeved at this insult to his competence.

"That means shit," Oliver retorted, "Less than shit. It's worse, 'cos now you think you can take care of yourself, so you'll be over confident."

"It's not overconfidence," he insisted.

"Oh yes, it is. Just because you can use a sword a bit, you think you can find food in the forest? You think you know how to squirm your way out of a mob in a city? You think you know how to keep from losing a finger or two from frostbite in the winter?"

"...Well, no, but..."

"Look, I'm not saying you're completely helpless," Oliver said, "I'm just saying you're lucky that I'm magnanimous."

"I thought you said you were insane."

"Oh, I am, but that doesn't enter into it."

"Whatever you want to think," Will said, throwing up his hands.

"I'm serious. You saw how you were with that body. Are you going to vomit every time you see a dead thing?"

"...I'll get used to it."

The look the ferret shot at him was slightly pitying. "Give it time, eh?"

"You're not even that much older than I am," Will protested.

"I'm eighteen."

"And I'm fifteen."

Oliver sighed. "Years, that doesn't matter. I've been on the road since I was thirteen, and before that, well... I told you what Clan life was like. You, on the other hand, have you ever even broken a bone?"

"...No."

"This isn't an insult," Oliver said, with a shrug, "I just want you to realize where you stand. I'll teach you the basic survival skills, and you'll be fine."

Will glanced at him suspiciously. "Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

The ferret snorted again. "Nothing. Friendship, possibly. I'm helping you out of the goodness of my golden heart."

Will raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. "Good enough for me."

Neither ferret nor mouse was aware that, in the bush, eyes were watching their movement.