Letter 4: Thirteenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf


Dear Iran,

More luck is on the way for us, so says Narran. He was up late last night, after I finished the letter. He says that the black shadow was a falcon! That means that it might be a descendant of...of...oh, bah. I can't remember for the life of me, but friends! Finally. A stroke of luck painted for us on the canvas of life.

But there are different strokes, hastier ones, harder ones. The food is running low, as is the water. Hopefully we'll stumble upon a mountains spring, but what are the chances of that?

None, I suppose. But we still cross our claws.

The leader, young Brother Harrloh, has been getting queerer. A stick cracking makes him stop and shiver. I dearly hope he isn't sick, as do the rest of us. He's one of the few that know where we are going, and if he dies...who knows? Will we keep going, or turn back? It will be a true test of courage.

It would be nice to see some life here in the mountains, besides the falcons. The silence only accentuates the cold and wind, which only confirms our fears of losing our way.

Heading north, the weather is getting much colder and windier. Thank the fur that we brought our winter cloaks, but it is only fall! The leaves are falling from the trees, but they are just turning colors back home.

Back home...oh, Redwall...perhaps the laterose is blooming...

Longing for home,
Moralin