Perch was entirely baffled. Some spirit named Martin had spoken to the old Abbot in a dream, and now Perch had to go off to gather helpers to stop a threat? Perch shook his head and blinked again.
After considering for another moment or two, Perch nodded resolutely, and said, "I will go, Father."
"Thank you, my son. My cooks will prepare a pack for you, and you will be off."
Perch nodded, then asked, "Which way shall I go?"
"Wherever your heart desires."
***
An hour later, Perch stood outside the Abbey in a foot of snow. A pack was on his back, containing travel food, fire starters, clothes, arrows, and a throwing knife. He had slung a canteen over a shoulder, and filled it to the brim with ice cold water from under the ice of the pond. His eyes took in the Abbey once more, then turned towards the gates as he walked out. The Dibbuns yelled farewells to him as the otter waved back. Finally, the gates closed. He was out of Redwall.
The road he was on went due north and due south. He took the Abbot's words into mind: "Wherever your heart desires." Perch picked out an arrow, closed his eyes, and threw it up with all his might. It came back down with a clatter pointing south on the road. Perch nodded, picked it up, and struck out south.
After nary an hour, darkness had settled and the wind was colder than ever. It had started snowing again. Perch shivered, and picked out a large bank of snow. Unhooking his pack, he set it on the ground and flexed his arm muscles. He looked around, and walked over to a tall, dead oak tree. Needing a shovel of some sort, he pried off a large chunk of bark, and took it in hand.
He went to work on the snow bank. After ten minutes of hard digging and packing, he had a suitably sized cave to curl up in. It was remarkably warmer, sheltering him from the wind. He dug for another quarter of an hour, and sat down inside and amused himself by drawing with a stick on the walls of the cave until he fell to sleep.
***
When he woke up the next morning, the forest was dead silent. Perch wasn't cold at all, in fact, he was a bit hot. The sun was up and when Perch poked his head out the cave's opening, he was blinded by the reflection of light of an ice storm.
The otter crawled out of the cave, and stood up. He was a bit wobbly, then a bit slippy, but as soon as he was steady, he took a look around. Everything was covered in a shining layer of ice. It was as if it had rained glass the night before. Perch took a look at his cave. The storm had made the cave twice as strong and insulating. No wonder he was so warm that morning.
He rolled his neck and crawled back into the cave, slouching against the walls. Perch grabbed his pack and opened it, looking for some food. The Redwaller cooks had packed a rather creative winter travel food. It was a hollowed out roll of bread, half-filled with a powder of bread, dried vegetables, and bits of fish. Perch was baffled on how to eat it, until a bit of snow flaked off from the roof and fell in the roll, then it clicked. Perch scooped some snow from the bottom of his grotto and packed into roll, then huddled over it. After a few moments, the snow had melted and made the powder a thick, mushy porridge.
Perch dug through his pack and found a spoon. He eagerly dug into the meal. It was delicious, despite its rugged look. After he was finished, he ate the roll and packed up the spoon. The otter crawled out of the grotto and hefted his pack and grabbed his bow. The way was much harder now, being on a solid slab of ice. After his fourth fall, Perch carefully crawled over to an elm tree, and pried off two large chunks of bark. He cut thick slivers of the bark of a nearby river birch, and tied the two chunks aroudn his footpaws. He tried it out, and it was perfect.
After a few hours of hard going, Perch noticed a change in the trees. They became thinner and shorter, and the ground noticeably dipped due to the lack of snow beneath the ice. All signs pointed towards a river swamp, and he knew it when he saw the shrews.
***
Before the short otter stood seven shrews. They were all just as short as Perch, if not shorter. All of them had short, stiff fur, of varying colors. Two were a light gray, one was dark gray, one was a mix of both grays and black, and the other three were a brownish gray. They each held a small rapier, and looked very much as if they knew how to use it. A headband was tied just above their eyes, and their only other piece of clothing was a red kilt. Their yellow eyes lacked emotion and stared coldly at the otter.
"Hello, I'm Perch Thistle of the Eastern River Otter Clan, or Eroc. I've come from Redwall to gather help for a coming threat."
One of the shrews, the darkish gray one, stepped forward and snarled. "You won't be gatherin' no help 'round here! Yore comin' with me!"
Startled, Perch opened his mouth to say something, but the shrew was on him in a flash. The rapier blade was a hair away from the otter's throat. Perch closed his mouth rather abruptly.
The other six gathered around the otter in a escort - an unfriendly one at that. One of the brownish ones stepped forward, and with a growl said, "Gimme the weapons, wetback!"
Perch clenched his teeth and gave up his quiver, bow, and knives to the hostile shrew. "Do you want the bowstring?" he asked.
"No, you can keep yore li'l piece o' string, streampaw!" The shrew hoisted them up and walked back to his position. The group moved forward and deeper into the swamp.
---------
Yup, I made up a river swamp. It's a flat lowland with short thin trees and lots of lakes, ponds, streams, and rivers.
More comin' later! Please review!
After considering for another moment or two, Perch nodded resolutely, and said, "I will go, Father."
"Thank you, my son. My cooks will prepare a pack for you, and you will be off."
Perch nodded, then asked, "Which way shall I go?"
"Wherever your heart desires."
***
An hour later, Perch stood outside the Abbey in a foot of snow. A pack was on his back, containing travel food, fire starters, clothes, arrows, and a throwing knife. He had slung a canteen over a shoulder, and filled it to the brim with ice cold water from under the ice of the pond. His eyes took in the Abbey once more, then turned towards the gates as he walked out. The Dibbuns yelled farewells to him as the otter waved back. Finally, the gates closed. He was out of Redwall.
The road he was on went due north and due south. He took the Abbot's words into mind: "Wherever your heart desires." Perch picked out an arrow, closed his eyes, and threw it up with all his might. It came back down with a clatter pointing south on the road. Perch nodded, picked it up, and struck out south.
After nary an hour, darkness had settled and the wind was colder than ever. It had started snowing again. Perch shivered, and picked out a large bank of snow. Unhooking his pack, he set it on the ground and flexed his arm muscles. He looked around, and walked over to a tall, dead oak tree. Needing a shovel of some sort, he pried off a large chunk of bark, and took it in hand.
He went to work on the snow bank. After ten minutes of hard digging and packing, he had a suitably sized cave to curl up in. It was remarkably warmer, sheltering him from the wind. He dug for another quarter of an hour, and sat down inside and amused himself by drawing with a stick on the walls of the cave until he fell to sleep.
***
When he woke up the next morning, the forest was dead silent. Perch wasn't cold at all, in fact, he was a bit hot. The sun was up and when Perch poked his head out the cave's opening, he was blinded by the reflection of light of an ice storm.
The otter crawled out of the cave, and stood up. He was a bit wobbly, then a bit slippy, but as soon as he was steady, he took a look around. Everything was covered in a shining layer of ice. It was as if it had rained glass the night before. Perch took a look at his cave. The storm had made the cave twice as strong and insulating. No wonder he was so warm that morning.
He rolled his neck and crawled back into the cave, slouching against the walls. Perch grabbed his pack and opened it, looking for some food. The Redwaller cooks had packed a rather creative winter travel food. It was a hollowed out roll of bread, half-filled with a powder of bread, dried vegetables, and bits of fish. Perch was baffled on how to eat it, until a bit of snow flaked off from the roof and fell in the roll, then it clicked. Perch scooped some snow from the bottom of his grotto and packed into roll, then huddled over it. After a few moments, the snow had melted and made the powder a thick, mushy porridge.
Perch dug through his pack and found a spoon. He eagerly dug into the meal. It was delicious, despite its rugged look. After he was finished, he ate the roll and packed up the spoon. The otter crawled out of the grotto and hefted his pack and grabbed his bow. The way was much harder now, being on a solid slab of ice. After his fourth fall, Perch carefully crawled over to an elm tree, and pried off two large chunks of bark. He cut thick slivers of the bark of a nearby river birch, and tied the two chunks aroudn his footpaws. He tried it out, and it was perfect.
After a few hours of hard going, Perch noticed a change in the trees. They became thinner and shorter, and the ground noticeably dipped due to the lack of snow beneath the ice. All signs pointed towards a river swamp, and he knew it when he saw the shrews.
***
Before the short otter stood seven shrews. They were all just as short as Perch, if not shorter. All of them had short, stiff fur, of varying colors. Two were a light gray, one was dark gray, one was a mix of both grays and black, and the other three were a brownish gray. They each held a small rapier, and looked very much as if they knew how to use it. A headband was tied just above their eyes, and their only other piece of clothing was a red kilt. Their yellow eyes lacked emotion and stared coldly at the otter.
"Hello, I'm Perch Thistle of the Eastern River Otter Clan, or Eroc. I've come from Redwall to gather help for a coming threat."
One of the shrews, the darkish gray one, stepped forward and snarled. "You won't be gatherin' no help 'round here! Yore comin' with me!"
Startled, Perch opened his mouth to say something, but the shrew was on him in a flash. The rapier blade was a hair away from the otter's throat. Perch closed his mouth rather abruptly.
The other six gathered around the otter in a escort - an unfriendly one at that. One of the brownish ones stepped forward, and with a growl said, "Gimme the weapons, wetback!"
Perch clenched his teeth and gave up his quiver, bow, and knives to the hostile shrew. "Do you want the bowstring?" he asked.
"No, you can keep yore li'l piece o' string, streampaw!" The shrew hoisted them up and walked back to his position. The group moved forward and deeper into the swamp.
---------
Yup, I made up a river swamp. It's a flat lowland with short thin trees and lots of lakes, ponds, streams, and rivers.
More comin' later! Please review!