Excerpt from the writings of Sister Oxalis, Recorder of Redwall Abbey:
It is one autumn past the Autumn of the Copper Beech, and there is no name for it yet. Everybeast seems focused on that past season; everybeast's mind including my own started counting to eleven day by day at the turn of the season.
Already full circle from the day that the wall and our lives were shattered, the day that our fighters left to triumph over evil, and the day that four beasts came back with nothing. The loss was beyond description—perhaps it is for the best that I did not try to describe it in full, even for all it might teach. And we still grieve for them all. Life had restored itself, daily processes had restarted, and routines reformed. Yet with the anniversaries closing in, the general tone of existance in Redwall lacks vitality. It undoubtedly will take seasons and seasons for scar tissue to close this wound; I think it cannot ever heal completely.
The wall is a different story. Even with fighters and laborers gone permanently, the community will to patch what could be patched. Everybeast in Redwall must have laid at least one stone in the gap, and thus it was entirely sealed with hard new sandstone by midsummer.
The issue of a monument was a very curious one. No designs were suggested that did not receive some opposition from some of the remaining abbeybeasts. The one decided upon was the joint effort of Ustela and the fox Thadius Roth. Now, he is a curious character—he admits right off that he worked for ob Insame, and that his inventions' incorrect implementation were what killed everything. No effort to obscure that at all, despite whatever reactions he receives. Yet currently, he is utterly caught up in the perfectionistic way of doing everything correctly and innovatively—morally and practically.
Akh, but I've gone on a bit of a tangent, or I would have gone further if I hadn't caught myself. Anyhow, Thadius' requirement of doing things correctly extended to the commemoration of these horrid times.
The memorial—though it is hopefully still there for you now, future reader—is thus: a copper beech planted on either side of the rebuilt wall segment, currently small but destined to be majestic. On the inside of the wall, above the graves of those who were killed in the initial impact, are two columns of names—a listing of every Redwaller whose life was cut short in this whole affair.
I am pleased that the objections to this design were minimal.
The actual ceremonies will be simple as well—it is impossible to overstate loss of such a magnitude, and trying to do so would be disastrous. While some in the Abbey still regard this as a victory over evil, they are in the minority. Small ceremony and understatement will do well.
I fear, however, that those outspoken few may shape future views for the worse. Our Warrior as among them, and while he argues optimism, there's a difference between hope for the future and making the future appear brighter by cleaning up the past.
As much as it pains me to write about this all, I do because it needs to be in the records next to all of Redwall's historical successes. The future needs to see that nobody is always right, and that some solutions are just not good—but that trying to be right is good if it's based on solid knowledge of the past.
I shall continue to record reactions and developments on this for the rest of my time. All of us here now lived it, but any future reader will need to know in order to understand and to learn. May the dust of time leave this manuscript untouched.

—Sis. Oxalis, Rec'dr