Sister Oxalis' concerns were placated for the time being. In his hasty organization, Mattachin had placed the elderly recorder on part of the committee to remain home and help keep the abbey safe and secure in the absence of fighting beasts. Though Oxalis still was far from a supporter of the general actions that were taking place, protection of her home Abbey was something she wouldn't have been able to turn down in good morals. Between her official records and personal musings, Oxalis had often perused the older chronicles of the Abbey. Though she outwardly felt herself to be too old to be truly active, the idea of following the purposes of Constance, Cornflower, May, and others pleased her immensely.
The security committee was a small one, but select, able, and intelligent enough. It had no appointed leader—decisions were to be discussed and made as a panel, and to be implemented if necessary by all remaining occupants of the Abbey. Its most prominent members were Oxalis, Rohan, Gregory, and Ustela, all of whom were ready to disregard outer impediments of old age, buffoonery, and youth to do what needed to be done. To them it wasn't about vengeance, but rather about maintaining life as it was before.
*****
Gabbro and Amos Stickley were gathering stones again. The mole and the hedgehog had been maintenance beasts all along; whether or not they'd said a word on the matter either way, they would have been to head the rebuilding effort.
Their team consisted primarily of moles, sensible workers set to do whatever job was presented to them. There were, however, beasts of other species assisting in the effort, and from them came no small stream of input on how perhaps something different than just a flat wall should be built in the gap on the western side of the Abbey. They argued that something should be done in remembrance, so that it all wasn't obscured indeed. Gabbro and Amos didn't want to deal with such a discussion or decision. Their word, in accordance with Mattachin's, was that the wall was to be rebuilt just as a wall. The monument would come later. The decision on such a thing, after all, belonged to the entire population of Redwall.
And there was also the issue that inevitably more creatures would die from this.
So for the time being, Amos and Gabbro were collecting stones again. Their crews were salvaging what pieces of red sandstone they could still use from the wreckage of the original wall, as well as making trips to the quarry for fresh blocks. They'd just been doing that same thing less than a week before. Whereas then they couldn't imagine the events of the following week, at this point everything before the attack seemed surreal.
*****
Mattachin wouldn't have admitted it to any living creature, but he was excited about this war. His father had had a war, as had all of the well-known Warriors of the past that he could recall. In Mattachin's mind, a Warrior without a war was nothing. Furthermore, regardless of previous peacetime activity and leadership potential, the war made the Warrior. Not the sword, not the disembodied voices of past heroes, but the war. As far as Mattachin could tell, a war meant instant approval.
So far, Mattachin's theory was proving to be true. The mouse was quite excited by the devoted attention that he was receiving, by the fact that all of his statements were regarded as final, how all of his orders were followed exactly, down to the punctuation. With that sort of following, Mattachin could get whatever he wanted done done.
Of course the events of the past week that led up to this conclusion upset him. If they hadn't, he wouldn't have found the momentum within himself that he was displaying now. It wouldn't have even occurred to him to look for that momentum. But this whole ordeal meant a lot to him, for various personal and professional reasons.
The army had been supplemented by local groups of shrews and Sparra. The officers, however, were Redwallers. Their personal connection to the attacks filled them with a certain retaliatory instinct that transferred to a level of aggression that Mattachin found encouraging. He loved looking back from his position at the head of the marching column. In reading the expressions on his followers' faces, Mattachin knew well that no holds would be barred to eliminate evildoers from the world.
*****
Nyctllr walked. Something about the idea of flying back to Nadal ob Insame's twin towers troubled her deeply. And so she walked, keeping pace with the army, relaying Troyte's aerial instructions to Mattachin.
The bat did not deny her fear. Walking wasn't bothering her. Being awake and active in the daytime was tolerable. Just the idea of returning to that ill-fated place...
Nyc was already trembling slightly. She knew that the tremor would only increase as the towers crept into view. She fully expected a cold sickly sweat to be running down her wingsails before long. She accepted that. She was going so it would all be resolved.