Snow drifted down from the dark clouds in the morning sky. Small rays of light poked through here and there, but nothing large enough to be called day. Little of the light penetrated to the grounds beneath the leafy tops of the trees. The cold air was still. It gave an air to the forest that changed its normal happiness and joy. The snow piled on the tops of the trees, leaving the ground noticeably clear. A small, worn path wove its way through the trees towards the river to the north. It was on this path that the otter walked.
The otter was young and stout. His body build was small and thick, but the thickness was of hard muscle and little fat. Most other otters were at least a head and a half taller than him, but this otter paid no mind. He was dressed in a thick white shirt and black breeches. A brown cloak topped the figure. In one paw was an unstrung bow, doubling as a walking stick, nearly as tall as the otter himself. Around that wrist was the bowstring. The other paw rested on a quiver that held several ends worth of arrows. It was strapped around his shoulder. On his belt hung several sheathed daggers and a few bulging pouches. It was clear that this otter was well taught in the use of his few weapons. Around his neck was a silver pendant with a profile of a female otter scratched into it.
This was Perch Thistle, hero of the Eastern River Otter Clan.
His deeds in the past had made him a hero, but he had left it all, in search of a friend. So he had left it all to come west, carrying only what he had with him. The otter picked his way through the dense foilage breaking through the hard-packed dirt of the path.
Perch was unaware of the thief following him in the trees. It was an equally young pickpocket. The squirrel had spotted he otter a while back, and had taken to the trees following him. The young thief had immediately spotted the heavy silver pendant as a valuable. As the otter stopped to take a rest, the squirrel took his chance. He grabbed a long rod of metal that he carried with him and silently leapt out of the tree.
Perch had no warning of the long rod before it hit him. The otter collapsed.
The pickpocket snickered and immediately grabbed for the pendant. But as soon as he had lifted it off of the otter's neck, the otter stirred. The squirrel hastened his efforts, seeing the concussion wearing off. He had only enough time to grab a dagger before the otter's eyes snapped open.
The squirrel immediately jumped back and leapt into the trees. Perch hastened to string his bow and fix an arrow to it. Seeing the squirrel leap off, he held the arrow to the bow and sprinted off along the path. Perch came to the end of the path and jumped into the foilage. He saw the squirrel leap out of the trees and bound up ahead out of the otter's sight.
Growling, Perch sped up his pace, but immediately skidded, trying to slow down. He was at the edge of a cliff. His footpaws were steady barely inches from the edge.
With a rumble, the ground gave below him, and the chunk of land he stood on was sliding down the cliff. The last thing he remembered seeing was the squirrel's laughing face before he blacked out.
***
Perch's eyes snapped open. He sat up and rubbed his head. He was scratching his neck when he realized that his pendant was gone. His sole reminder of his long lost mate, Flow. Then all that had happened that day came rushing back. The walk, the thief, the fall...Perch shook his head and slowly stood up. He was standing in the middle of a dirt road. Forest grew on either side of the road, all of the trees standing in their bare winter glory.
A bell rung off to the north. A town! he thought, and struck off towards the noise. After fifteen minutes of half-walking, half-running, Perch saw a pinkish-orange tower in the distance. It was topped by slick brown slates. Perch picked up his pace until he was running. After another quarter of an hour, the stout otter was at a set of tall wooden doors set into the walls of a great sandstone abbey.
He rapped on the doors with his bow stave. The otter shivered as he waited for somebeast to open the door. After a minute, he rapped again.
"Who be there?" a loud, barking voice shouted.
"'Tis I, Perch Thistle, wanderer!" Perch yelled back.
The voice considered this for a moment. "All right, matey, welcome to Redwall Abbey, peaceful home of the Redwall Order!"
Perch shivered again as the doors opened, then quickly stepped through. A wonderful sight greeted him. Many youngbeasts frolicked in the snow; youngbeasts of all ages, sizes, and species. A pair of young mice and a hedgehog skated on a frozen lake, and two moles dug tunnels in the snowbanks. A large female badger, sitting on an upturned wheelbarrel, watched them all. A brawny otter, much taller than Perch, hoisted blocks of ice and carried them into the Abbey itself.
The Abbey was even more wondrous than the grounds that he had just taken in. The building was ancient, hundreds of seasons old. A large entrance hall was protruding from the main chunk of the Abbey, at least five stories tall. A belltower stood in one corner of the entrance hall and the main abbey. An old mouse, garbed in a long elegant green habit, strode out of the main doors and out onto the path in front of Perch.
"Welcome, traveler, I am Abbot Dromin, Father of Redwall Abbey. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"Certainly, Father. My name is Perch Thistle. I come from the Eastern River Otter Clan, Eroc," Perch replied.
"May I interest you to dinner, young one?" the aged mouse asked.
Nodding politely, Perch smiled. "Of course."
The pair walked into the Abbey, followed by all of the youngsters and other beasts who had been outside. The Abbot led Perch into a vast room with set tables and cooks bustling around to finishing preparing for dinner.
Perch sat down at a table, and immediately was surrounded by young Dibbuns, as the Abbot called them.
Perch laughed and answered all of the bombarding questions that hit him from all of the Dibbuns as he was eating dinner. The food was delicious. The main course was some sort of fried and breaded fish, with potatoes, dried apples, and bread on the side. A goblet of October Ale stood next to a simple glass of water. The food was filling and rich, but Perch found some way to take in the meadowcream cake dessert. He patted his stomach contentedly.
Shortly after, the Abbot stood and called out, "Redwallers, all of you are dismissed except the following: Skipper, Treejump, Moonspar, Sapling, Stream, Bristle, Foremole, and Spikk. Also, our guest tonight is welcome to stay. Goodnight, Redwallers!"
There was an immediate roar and a bustle to leave the hall and head upstairs to the dormitories. Perch rose and picked his way up to the Abbot's table. The various Redwallers, two otters, two squirrels, a mouse, one mole, and two hedgehogs, that had been called were gathered around the Abbot.
"Yes, Father?" the mouse asked.
"Yes. I have called you all, the warriors of Redwall, because I have something to tell you. Last night, I had a dream of Martin the Warrior, our Abbey's founder. He told me to welcome the wanderer, for he will help the Abbey by leaving. I did not remember this until I saw Perch, and then it was that I knew he was the Wanderer. Martin told me a poem:
Welcome the wanderer, for he will do you good
When the threat calls, he'll do what no other could
Set him off out to the winds, north, south, east, and west
He'll gather faithful followers and let the Abbey rest.
All Perch could do was blink.
The otter was young and stout. His body build was small and thick, but the thickness was of hard muscle and little fat. Most other otters were at least a head and a half taller than him, but this otter paid no mind. He was dressed in a thick white shirt and black breeches. A brown cloak topped the figure. In one paw was an unstrung bow, doubling as a walking stick, nearly as tall as the otter himself. Around that wrist was the bowstring. The other paw rested on a quiver that held several ends worth of arrows. It was strapped around his shoulder. On his belt hung several sheathed daggers and a few bulging pouches. It was clear that this otter was well taught in the use of his few weapons. Around his neck was a silver pendant with a profile of a female otter scratched into it.
This was Perch Thistle, hero of the Eastern River Otter Clan.
His deeds in the past had made him a hero, but he had left it all, in search of a friend. So he had left it all to come west, carrying only what he had with him. The otter picked his way through the dense foilage breaking through the hard-packed dirt of the path.
Perch was unaware of the thief following him in the trees. It was an equally young pickpocket. The squirrel had spotted he otter a while back, and had taken to the trees following him. The young thief had immediately spotted the heavy silver pendant as a valuable. As the otter stopped to take a rest, the squirrel took his chance. He grabbed a long rod of metal that he carried with him and silently leapt out of the tree.
Perch had no warning of the long rod before it hit him. The otter collapsed.
The pickpocket snickered and immediately grabbed for the pendant. But as soon as he had lifted it off of the otter's neck, the otter stirred. The squirrel hastened his efforts, seeing the concussion wearing off. He had only enough time to grab a dagger before the otter's eyes snapped open.
The squirrel immediately jumped back and leapt into the trees. Perch hastened to string his bow and fix an arrow to it. Seeing the squirrel leap off, he held the arrow to the bow and sprinted off along the path. Perch came to the end of the path and jumped into the foilage. He saw the squirrel leap out of the trees and bound up ahead out of the otter's sight.
Growling, Perch sped up his pace, but immediately skidded, trying to slow down. He was at the edge of a cliff. His footpaws were steady barely inches from the edge.
With a rumble, the ground gave below him, and the chunk of land he stood on was sliding down the cliff. The last thing he remembered seeing was the squirrel's laughing face before he blacked out.
***
Perch's eyes snapped open. He sat up and rubbed his head. He was scratching his neck when he realized that his pendant was gone. His sole reminder of his long lost mate, Flow. Then all that had happened that day came rushing back. The walk, the thief, the fall...Perch shook his head and slowly stood up. He was standing in the middle of a dirt road. Forest grew on either side of the road, all of the trees standing in their bare winter glory.
A bell rung off to the north. A town! he thought, and struck off towards the noise. After fifteen minutes of half-walking, half-running, Perch saw a pinkish-orange tower in the distance. It was topped by slick brown slates. Perch picked up his pace until he was running. After another quarter of an hour, the stout otter was at a set of tall wooden doors set into the walls of a great sandstone abbey.
He rapped on the doors with his bow stave. The otter shivered as he waited for somebeast to open the door. After a minute, he rapped again.
"Who be there?" a loud, barking voice shouted.
"'Tis I, Perch Thistle, wanderer!" Perch yelled back.
The voice considered this for a moment. "All right, matey, welcome to Redwall Abbey, peaceful home of the Redwall Order!"
Perch shivered again as the doors opened, then quickly stepped through. A wonderful sight greeted him. Many youngbeasts frolicked in the snow; youngbeasts of all ages, sizes, and species. A pair of young mice and a hedgehog skated on a frozen lake, and two moles dug tunnels in the snowbanks. A large female badger, sitting on an upturned wheelbarrel, watched them all. A brawny otter, much taller than Perch, hoisted blocks of ice and carried them into the Abbey itself.
The Abbey was even more wondrous than the grounds that he had just taken in. The building was ancient, hundreds of seasons old. A large entrance hall was protruding from the main chunk of the Abbey, at least five stories tall. A belltower stood in one corner of the entrance hall and the main abbey. An old mouse, garbed in a long elegant green habit, strode out of the main doors and out onto the path in front of Perch.
"Welcome, traveler, I am Abbot Dromin, Father of Redwall Abbey. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"Certainly, Father. My name is Perch Thistle. I come from the Eastern River Otter Clan, Eroc," Perch replied.
"May I interest you to dinner, young one?" the aged mouse asked.
Nodding politely, Perch smiled. "Of course."
The pair walked into the Abbey, followed by all of the youngsters and other beasts who had been outside. The Abbot led Perch into a vast room with set tables and cooks bustling around to finishing preparing for dinner.
Perch sat down at a table, and immediately was surrounded by young Dibbuns, as the Abbot called them.
Perch laughed and answered all of the bombarding questions that hit him from all of the Dibbuns as he was eating dinner. The food was delicious. The main course was some sort of fried and breaded fish, with potatoes, dried apples, and bread on the side. A goblet of October Ale stood next to a simple glass of water. The food was filling and rich, but Perch found some way to take in the meadowcream cake dessert. He patted his stomach contentedly.
Shortly after, the Abbot stood and called out, "Redwallers, all of you are dismissed except the following: Skipper, Treejump, Moonspar, Sapling, Stream, Bristle, Foremole, and Spikk. Also, our guest tonight is welcome to stay. Goodnight, Redwallers!"
There was an immediate roar and a bustle to leave the hall and head upstairs to the dormitories. Perch rose and picked his way up to the Abbot's table. The various Redwallers, two otters, two squirrels, a mouse, one mole, and two hedgehogs, that had been called were gathered around the Abbot.
"Yes, Father?" the mouse asked.
"Yes. I have called you all, the warriors of Redwall, because I have something to tell you. Last night, I had a dream of Martin the Warrior, our Abbey's founder. He told me to welcome the wanderer, for he will help the Abbey by leaving. I did not remember this until I saw Perch, and then it was that I knew he was the Wanderer. Martin told me a poem:
Welcome the wanderer, for he will do you good
When the threat calls, he'll do what no other could
Set him off out to the winds, north, south, east, and west
He'll gather faithful followers and let the Abbey rest.
All Perch could do was blink.