Disclaimer: I only wish I owned what BJ does. But I'll have to deal with owning only my characters and made up places
Hope Woodwind burst through the Abbey gates, basket in paw and skirts billowing in the breeze. And mouth wide, wide open. And sounds coming out. Sounds such as, "My, this abbey has changed so much! Hmmph! Look at this dirt! Why when I was here..." and so on and so on. An elderly mouse in a plain green habit smiled at her, and beckoned the old mousewife towards him.
"Hope! It's been such a long time! What brings you here?" Abbot Piklyn chuckled warmly. Hope adjusted her apron, and grinned.
"Has been f' you too, Father! Now, I've brought you my home baked honey loaves," The mousewife started, taking out a feather duster and starting to brush the Abbey walls. "They're a little cold, but I'm sure Friar Rumple will take care of it!"
The Abbot had question stamped all over his face as he watched Hope dust the outside of his Abbey, but then it softened as he remembered how meticulous she could be. "Right. Come along, Rumple will take care of it!" Piklyn led the old mousewife across the sun-dappled orchards to Great Hall.
Hope enjoyed the walk immensely, glancing at the young ones playing on the lawn. Her attention was stuck on a young mousemaid, in a simple light green tunic and lavender skirt, her light tan fur in the normal range of mouse coloring. But something about that child seemed familiar...oh if only Hope could see her face! The maid turned around, to chat with a tall ottermaid on her other side, and Hope drew in a sharp breath. "Stop! Abbot!"
The mouse stopped dead in his tracks, and ran towards the old mousewife, thinking something was wrong. No, it was probably just Hope having a panic-attack because the ground was dirty. "What is it?" he gasped, short of breath. Hope ignored his rasping, and pointed to the mousemaid.
"Who is that? Who?"
"Why, that's Thistle Longfaith! Daughter of Rhubarb and Periwinkle, you know...why, Hope, whatever is the matter?" The abbot's kindly face was etched in concern.
Hope stood stock still, barely breathing. "Why didn't you tell me my granddaughter was here?" she mumbled, still in a trance from seeing her daughter's face again, in the form of her child.
"I sent someone out to tell you..." Piklyn shrugged, and then his face changed. "LOUISELLE!" he yelled, adressing a young female squirrel.
Louiselle rushed over, brushing off her Novice habit. "Yes, Father Piklyn?" she cried.
"You idid/i ask Fethrinen Falcon to go to Northern-South-Glen to tell the Woodwind family about Thistle...didn't you?"
Louiselle stuttered, looking at the ground. "I...I'm so..sorry, Father...I...I forgot! I had forgotten I forgot until now too, it's been so many seasons"
Abbot Piklyn put a comforting paw around the shaking form of the squirrelmaid, as did Hope.
"Come, child, it was all a big mistake!" Hope smiled, hugging Louiselle. The squirrel brushed away her tears, her lips turned up in a small grin.
"I suppose, now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to pruning the hedges!" The novice hurried off with all the agility of the young squirrel.
Thistle turned her head, noticing something was going on, and a strange mousewife was STARING at her! She exclaimed to her otterfriend, SlipLock, "What are they doing over there? I'm going to go see!" SlipLock just shrugged, and the stubborn mousemaid stomped over there, ready to yell at her for staring at her. Just because a mouse had purple eyes, that didn't mean she had to gawk at her! Thistle opened her mouth, and was squeezed tightly by that odd mousewife.
"Oh, Thistlethistlethistlethistle..." Hope sobbed, as the mousemaid gave her a strange look.
"Why in the world are you hugging me? Get off!" Thistle did not know the meaning of tact, being blunt came naturally to her. The old mousewife drew back, thoroughly chastened, and smiled.
"Your mother had the same attitude!"
"My...mother?" Thistle stared incredulously at Hope, her purple eyes glinting in confusion.
"Yes! Your mother! Periwinkle? My daughter! Now, Thistle, since you're my granddaughter, you're coming to live with me! No buts! C'mon, we'll get you at home in Northern-South Glen in no time!"
~***~
The birds twittered peacefully in the trees, their melodious songs echoing around the abbey.
Too bad they were drowned out by two female mice carrying lots of heavy bags and arguing 'til they were blue in the face.
