~Yet another chapter. . . Thank you, all those who reviewed! I'm so glad
people like my fic! *is happy* Oh, and a few new characters are mentioned:~
Prince Poynt: Male Stoat. Technically King of all Welkin. He is Ermine, refuses to change to brown after winter, so his fur is always white, aside from the black tip of his tail. He doesn't like to be called 'King' because when his brother was king, he was assassinated, and to his thinking, if he isn't 'king', then he won't be killed off. He isn't too intelligent.
Falshed, Sheriff: Male Stoat. Second in command to Prince Poynt, and is in charge of the army. He has a burn mark on his white 'bib' from an earlier encounter with Sylver and his band.
~Anyways. . . here's the chapter!~
The weasels had been caught unawares. They quickly surrounded the Stoat, and with practiced ease, bound and gagged him. They did the same with the next soldier, slinging him on the ground afterwards next to the other soldier.
The Stoats where out of their element in the forest terrain; they where more used to evicting old jill weasels from their village homes than trekking about the woods at night.
Soon, there was a total of a dozen Stoat soldiers lying on the ground. The last Stoat remained un-gagged; he had what seemed to be a burn mark on his otherwise perfectly white bib.
As soon as he was captured, that Stoat immediately turned his head to Tagg, who had been sitting by the fire with Nimbalo, watching with a bit of amusement at how easily the stoats had been apprehended.
"Hey, otter!" the stoat said in a slightly hushed voice. Tagg looked at him, seemingly with little interest. "Why don't you hand these weasels over to me? You'll get a large reward. . . You can handle a few weasels, can't you? You're not part of the notorious Sylver's band, are you?"
The tattooed otter shook his head slightly at the folly of the Stoat soldier, and said to him. "I don't associate with vermin." He thought that that'd end their short 'conversation', but the stoat interpreted his headshake almost as an affirmation that Tagg was on the stoat side, and whispered with a quick click of his teeth,
"Come and untie me then." The otter shook his head and, again, said, "I don't associate with vermin." The weasels teeth clicked* merrily at those words.
Nimbalo burst into a long laugh, and all the teeth clicking immediately stopped. "What's wrong, Nimbalo?" Wodehead asked quietly. "I've never heard that sound before. . . are you ill?"
To the shock of the Stoats, the harvest mouse shrugged off the magician's inquiring paw and spoke. "I laughed. Wot's wrong wit' that, eh?"
Tagg had figured it out and gave a quiet chuckle. "Nimbalo. . . they don' laugh. Funny as it seems, they click their teeth!" His chuckle turned into booming laughter. "In all my seasons in the Juska clan, I've never 'eard of teeth clickin' afore!"
After he was through laughing, the otter looked at the Stoat soldiers pensively. "Now. . . wot t'do with you. . ." He turned to Sylver. "Wot d'you think?"
The marked weasel thought for a moment, then said in a mocking voice. "I think we should return them to Prince Poynt. . . He does need his soldiers. . ." The outlaw band conferred in a huddle, out of the hearing of their prisoners.
"I have an idea. . ." Nimbalo spoke. "Y'said that the Prince lives in a castle, right? Well, let's bring 'em there in style!" The harvest mouse quickly outlined his plan, which was met with a lot of appreciative teeth clicking at the cleverness.
Tagg and Nimbalo, along with Miniver and Mawk-the-doubter, stayed behind to guard their prisoners while the rest of the band went to get 'supplies' from the nearby Thistle Hall.
After about an hour, the weasels returned, each laden down with a fore- armful of brightly coloured cloths.
Sylver holding what seemed to be a large book, made out of wood. He set this down in front of the soldiers, who shrank back involuntarily in apprehension.
The book-like box opened with a smooth click, and the contents where revealed to the Stoats.
*Remember. . . they don't laugh, they click their teeth. Sorry if I forgot to mention this in one of my earlier chapters. . . I'm too lazy to go look to see if I did. -_-;
~A bit of a cliffhanger for you! ^^ The next chapter is going to be a bit. . . humorous, but don't worry, it's just for that chapter. . . the chapter after that will be back to 'normal'. Oh, and please tell me of any spelling errors. . . I hate those little buggers! _ If you have a story that you think I'd like, please recommend it to me! Oh, yes, please, please review! ~
Prince Poynt: Male Stoat. Technically King of all Welkin. He is Ermine, refuses to change to brown after winter, so his fur is always white, aside from the black tip of his tail. He doesn't like to be called 'King' because when his brother was king, he was assassinated, and to his thinking, if he isn't 'king', then he won't be killed off. He isn't too intelligent.
Falshed, Sheriff: Male Stoat. Second in command to Prince Poynt, and is in charge of the army. He has a burn mark on his white 'bib' from an earlier encounter with Sylver and his band.
~Anyways. . . here's the chapter!~
The weasels had been caught unawares. They quickly surrounded the Stoat, and with practiced ease, bound and gagged him. They did the same with the next soldier, slinging him on the ground afterwards next to the other soldier.
The Stoats where out of their element in the forest terrain; they where more used to evicting old jill weasels from their village homes than trekking about the woods at night.
Soon, there was a total of a dozen Stoat soldiers lying on the ground. The last Stoat remained un-gagged; he had what seemed to be a burn mark on his otherwise perfectly white bib.
As soon as he was captured, that Stoat immediately turned his head to Tagg, who had been sitting by the fire with Nimbalo, watching with a bit of amusement at how easily the stoats had been apprehended.
"Hey, otter!" the stoat said in a slightly hushed voice. Tagg looked at him, seemingly with little interest. "Why don't you hand these weasels over to me? You'll get a large reward. . . You can handle a few weasels, can't you? You're not part of the notorious Sylver's band, are you?"
The tattooed otter shook his head slightly at the folly of the Stoat soldier, and said to him. "I don't associate with vermin." He thought that that'd end their short 'conversation', but the stoat interpreted his headshake almost as an affirmation that Tagg was on the stoat side, and whispered with a quick click of his teeth,
"Come and untie me then." The otter shook his head and, again, said, "I don't associate with vermin." The weasels teeth clicked* merrily at those words.
Nimbalo burst into a long laugh, and all the teeth clicking immediately stopped. "What's wrong, Nimbalo?" Wodehead asked quietly. "I've never heard that sound before. . . are you ill?"
To the shock of the Stoats, the harvest mouse shrugged off the magician's inquiring paw and spoke. "I laughed. Wot's wrong wit' that, eh?"
Tagg had figured it out and gave a quiet chuckle. "Nimbalo. . . they don' laugh. Funny as it seems, they click their teeth!" His chuckle turned into booming laughter. "In all my seasons in the Juska clan, I've never 'eard of teeth clickin' afore!"
After he was through laughing, the otter looked at the Stoat soldiers pensively. "Now. . . wot t'do with you. . ." He turned to Sylver. "Wot d'you think?"
The marked weasel thought for a moment, then said in a mocking voice. "I think we should return them to Prince Poynt. . . He does need his soldiers. . ." The outlaw band conferred in a huddle, out of the hearing of their prisoners.
"I have an idea. . ." Nimbalo spoke. "Y'said that the Prince lives in a castle, right? Well, let's bring 'em there in style!" The harvest mouse quickly outlined his plan, which was met with a lot of appreciative teeth clicking at the cleverness.
Tagg and Nimbalo, along with Miniver and Mawk-the-doubter, stayed behind to guard their prisoners while the rest of the band went to get 'supplies' from the nearby Thistle Hall.
After about an hour, the weasels returned, each laden down with a fore- armful of brightly coloured cloths.
Sylver holding what seemed to be a large book, made out of wood. He set this down in front of the soldiers, who shrank back involuntarily in apprehension.
The book-like box opened with a smooth click, and the contents where revealed to the Stoats.
*Remember. . . they don't laugh, they click their teeth. Sorry if I forgot to mention this in one of my earlier chapters. . . I'm too lazy to go look to see if I did. -_-;
~A bit of a cliffhanger for you! ^^ The next chapter is going to be a bit. . . humorous, but don't worry, it's just for that chapter. . . the chapter after that will be back to 'normal'. Oh, and please tell me of any spelling errors. . . I hate those little buggers! _ If you have a story that you think I'd like, please recommend it to me! Oh, yes, please, please review! ~