The Redwallers were on the right track. Mattachin, however, could not help but be suspicious of this path which he'd never previously traveled. No matter how much certainty and reassurance Nyctllr and Troyte offered, Mattachin just couldn't feel certain. The bat and the hawk had made their previous journey aerially, after all.
Mattachin did wish he could dispel his uncertainty. He knew that Nyc and Troyte wouldn't deliberately go astray in seeking their own vengeance. And he was able to deal with it well enough when considering the prospect of his war. Once he was firmly recorded in Redwall's annals as the one who stifled the furthest enemy, nobeast would ever have to know that he once doubted his own sense of direction.
It would not be on record either that Mattachin leapt back and moved his arm as if to suck his thumb as the gauze-clad mustelid slipped down from a tree and into his path. Have you misjudged your orienteering?
Mattachin sputtered, startled by the entrance and so baffled by the language usage that his own verbs became crossed. Who is you? What are the meaning of this?
The creature seemed amused at the warrior mouse's error. Raglé I am. Raglé the Enigma I am. You convey directional discombobulation.
Bewildered, seeking aid, Mattachin looked back toward Nyctllr and Troyte. Hawk and bat showed expressions of clear recognition, amused expressions that also offered the statement, You figure it out.
Raglé turned her head to the side knowingly, questioning the warrior to proceed. Mattachin shot a frustrated glance at Nyc and Troyte. I've been told this path is clear and correct.
To what region unblocked and forward, to where wish you arrive? Illusioned you may be, through self-assurance of destination. Where may be your coordinates? The mustelid gestured mystically at the path.
Mattachin scowled. I don't understand a word you're saying, and until I do, I don't trust to tell you anything.
Objective conspiratorial, motive camouflaged? Raglé waggled her eyebrows as a caricature of a beast might.
I wouldn't tell— Mattachin halted, grasping the sword hilt, knowing he'd proven some sort of point. he assured. Who's to know you wouldn't point us right into some sort of humongous trap?
Raglé once again regarded Nyctllr and Troyte, this time with a We know something he doesn't know! expression. They merely returned blank smiles. Raglé spoke at Mattachin, who clearly was troubled by this nonverbal exchange. Entrapment? Cage? Snare? Logical is that premonition, warrantable that trepidation!
You're telling me that you're pointing us at a trap? That's a sure way to mess with a mind, vermin! Mattachin snarled, thoroughly confused himself.
It's the trap you're looking for, Raglé flatly remarked.
At the indeterminate mustelid's sudden clarity, Mattachin's own speech was thrown off yet again. Wait, what so mean, er...
Raglé smirked, reverting to her previous mannerism. Identical monoliths you seek, duplicate towers you sight—the dominion is thus of the bearded adversary. Airborne be not—altitude is sighted, elevation will monitor. Observe the proximity, caution the approach. Architectural doubling forthcoming emits multiples aloft—time table specifics currently indistinct. This present avenue is true; may guard accompany your passage.
With that, Raglé easily bound back into the trees and was off, the flicker of her earthtone gauze garments indistinct against the shifting leaves.