Letter 6: Eighteenth Day of the Autumn of the Fallen Leaf


Dear Iran,

We're finally clear of those cursed mountains. I don't understand how McPhearsome could stand living and ruling upon them, or how Thrugg could be so brave as to breach its cliffs and crevasses to save the lives of so many Redwallers.

The wind blows much more up north here, here in the Barren Lands, as I like to call them. It is nothing but bare plains, stretching beyond the eye's range. I like to think that I can see Boldred's Mountain, the landmark I know is there. I like to think that I can hear the rushing waters of the Broadstream, the river I know exists.

But I cannot.

Harrloh seems to be regaining some of his old lust for adventure and the journey seems to be stepping it up a bit, with higher morale and spirits. Hope has kindled again, kindled from its dwindling white ashes.

But the curse of the Barren Lands is upon us..the lack of food. Being woodslanders, we are used to having food around every turn. But the plains are much different. I suppose we could eat the grass, but only if push comes to shove. We have some ration packs, but only enough for six days. We'll have to step our speed up a notch.

I'll only bore you with one more paragraph.

There seems to be some sign of life. Everybeast has seen the grass shuffle at least once, and I could've sorn I heard a mockingbird's call. But is it good life...or bad?

Worrying,
Moralin