___Chapter One___
While Starstripe carried the orphaned leveret Cheekah Comettail, the Skipper of Otters paced back and forth outside of Redwall's Infirmary door, his paws clutched behind his back. Every once and a while, his eyes would glance up to the door, then fall back to where his footpaws seemed to be digging a ditch for themselves. The occasional Redwaller would pass by, giving him their well wishes and good fortunes. He would nod in return, too nervous to speak back. He had reason to worry. A few seasons ago, he and his mate Rilla had lost a tiny otter during birth. They could now only hope that the same didn't occur this time. A young, scrawny mouse came bumbling up the stairs, tripping over the hem of his habit, which was much too large for him. The Skipper looked up to him.
"Gerrad, what're you doin' out o' the kitchen?" he asked. The mouse adjusted the chef's hat on his ears and saluted the Skipper generously.
"Sir, Lady Trem says you're in need of some vittles, sir!" The mouse, between the ages of a Dibbun and an adult, was the assistant cook at Redwall... Or at least he was trying to be. A smile formed on Skipper's muzzle. He'd never seen a more determined little beast.
"Aye, that great hunk o' a cook keeps tryin' to shove vittles down me throat, she does." Skipper snatched the hat off of Gerrad's head and ruffled the fur between the mouse's ears fondly. "You tell that 'edgepig I'll be havin' nothin' to eat 'till Rilla's safe an' sound, you 'ear me?"
"But- but sir..." Gerrad began, turning to look back down the stairs. Trem, Redwall's hedgehog cook, was trundling upwards with a tray laden with steaming victuals. Skipper shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. The cook was muttering to herself as she waddled up the stairs intently.
"I says to him 'You bring that otter down here, young'un!' But here I am, troddin' up the stairs... Far too old to be carryin' food to ornery otters..."
"Only as ornery as you, Sister!" Skipper called, nearly making Trem fall backwards. Gerrad had to hold in his laugh. The tray of food was shoved into the mouse's paws, however, as Trem pointed a finger at Skipper.
"You're gonna wear away to skin an' bones, Skipper Brig, if you don't feed yourself goodly now, you understand? I wanna see you first to breakfast every morn, or you'll hear from me, otter!" Trem's finger was only inches away from Skipper's nose. He knew she meant well. He patted the paw that was pointing accusingly at him.
"Shore, I'll do that, marm."
"I'll hold ye to that, ye great Skipper of the blasted Otters!" She tugged on Gerrad's ear, and the mouse handed the tray to Skipper Brig. Taking the food, he watched the two make their way back to the kitchens.
"What're we making for breakfast, marm?" Gerrad asked. Trem tweaked his ear.
"Nothin', if you keep your yammerin', boy! Hold me arm, please. I'm gettin' too old to walk these stairs."
"Yes, marm."
Skipper Brig leaned up against the wall opposite the Infirmary door and munched on a lovely blueberry scone covered in meadowcream. Just as he was about to take a sip of freshly brewed October Ale, the door opened to reveal the head of Sister Fern, the vole Infirmary keeper. A smile spread over her face, and she nodded, motioning for the Skipper to enter the room. His appetite and food forgotten, he moved into the room, almost stumbling over his rudder on his way in. Rilla, in a bed on the far side of the room, sniggered softly. Brig breathed in and out upon seeing the wonderful bundle in his mate's arms. Seeing his astonishment, she beckoned him to her side. In an instant he was there, staring at the otterbabe with wide eyes.
"He looks like you, Brig," Rilla whispered, playing with the unruly tuft of fur between the babe's ears. Skipper Brig tried to smooth his own identical tuft of fur down awkwardly. The baby's great blue eyes stared up at his father, and he squeaked encouragingly. Brig laughed heartily, letting his son take his finger.
"So he's a boy, huh? Haharr, he'll make a fine otter, won't he? Have you given the little sprout a name yet?"
"Yes," Rilla said, "but I wanted your approval first." She watched as her son's eyelids drooped and he yawned widely. "I called him Rand."
"Rand, Skipper of Otters... What do you think, Sister Fern?" the Skipper turned to the vole, who had shied to the corner.
"Why, it seems like a fittin' name, but why ye ask me, I have no idea. I was just off to tell the Abbess that a new Redwaller has arrived. At least now I have a name to tell her." Without another word, the little creature was gone. Skipper sighed and lay a paw on his wife's shoulder.
"Finally, Rilla... Our own child." He was silent for moments on hand, and then he squeezed her shoulder lightly. "He's a beauty, ain't he?"
Without warning, the Infirmary was inundated by a flood of Dibbuns. Mice, moles, otters, shrews, squirrels, even a young leveret were present. They all wanted to see the baby. All of them were chattering at once, the two new parents overwhelmed by the sudden change in the room's population. They looked at each other, bewildered, then began laughing. A tiny squirrel maid, Keela, sniffled lightly.
"Oy, why're thos'uns laffin' at us likkle ones?" she asked. Her friend Duggum, Foremole's little son, piped up in his odd mole speech.
"They'm just havved ee baby. Mebbe they'm toired," Duggum offered. There was another loud chattering that spread through the Dibbuns as they tried to sneak peeks at the newest addition. It stopped almost immediately as Abbess Flaura entered the Infirmary with Sister Fern.
"Is some beast having some sort of celebration in here?" the Abbess asked, a smile playing on her wizened features. A tiny mouse waved a spoon in the air above her head.
"We should 'ave a cellybrayshun!" she squeaked.
"Why do you think we should have a celebration, Tellarina?" Abbess Flaura asked, bending down to the mouse maid's level. The Dibbun pulled a face.
"I don' like a be called Tellarina. I like a be called Telly! An' we should 'ave a cellybrayshun cuz the ol' Skipper 'ad a baby!" Telly called. There was an uproar of consent among the gathered Dibbuns. The Abbess held up her hands for quiet, and she got it, only after a few minutes for the Dibbuns to cheer.
"The Harvest Festival is coming in only a week, so I do not think it would be utterly impossible to also celebrate the birth of young Rand at the Autumn Feast..."
Another cheer went up amongst the Dibbuns. Gerrad stuck his head into the room, an inquisitive look on his features.
"What's going on in here? I can hear you lot from the kitchens!" Gerrad voiced. Telly waddled up to him and handed her spoon to the older mouse.
"We's a have us'ns a cellybrayshun!" Telly said gleefully. Flaura smiled at Gerrad, whose face was now a mask of horror.
"You mean we have to cook for the Autumn Feast AND this 'cellybrayshun'?" his pleading eyes looked to his Abbess, who shook her head.
"It's to be the same day as the feast."
"Hohoho!" Skipper laughed as he walked over and clapped Gerrad on the back, knocking the wind out of him, "You should 'ave seen your face, matey! Hohoho, that was a good'un, Mother Abbess!" Gerrad smiled weakly, knowing a joke of some sort had been played on him. Rilla, her face warm and inviting, motioned for the assistant cook to come to her bedside. He did, and when he saw the otterbabe, he made a low whistle.
"Well, don't he look just like his dad? What's his name now?"
"Rand," Rilla played with the tuft of hair between her son's ears again, "Rand, the Great Skipper of Otters."
"Fine name..." Gerrad said. He turned around sharply, only to stumble on the hem of his habit again. The Dibbun laughed, and blood rushed to Gerrad's face. "Err, well, off to cook now, marm..." He hurried out of the room. Rilla laughed. She had grown quite fond of the young mouse, and so had Skipper Brig. Sister Fern was now among the Dibbuns, shooing them unceremoniously from the room.
"Go on now, time ye went down to the Great Hall. Ye heard what Gerrad said, he an' Trem are cookin' up a storm for ye. Go on now!" The vole followed the Dibbuns out, leaving Rilla, Skipper Brig, Abbess Flaura and baby Rand alone in the Infirmary. Flaura leaned over and looked at the otterbabe, now fast asleep in his mother's arms.
"It could not have happened to two better beasts, Skipper, Rilla. He's a beautiful babe. I'm sure he'll make a fine Skipper some day."
"Aye, that he will," Brig boasted, throwing out his chest. "Just like his father, an' his father before him."
"Good luck to both of you. Now, if you don't mind," a kind smile formed on Flaura's muzzle, "Gerrad makes some of the best blueberry tarts in Mossflower country." She made a slight curtsey before exiting. Rilla's paw rested on Skipper's.
"I like her, Brig. She's so kind."
"That she is. Redwall's a wonderful place." He sat for a moment in silence. "It would be a wonderful place for Rand to grow up in." Rilla looked at him, astonished.
"I thought you wanted him to live like you had when your father was training you to be Skipper; you would live on the streams for days on end!"
"Aye, but times 'ave changed now. I wan' my boy to grow up without knowin' death an' hate. He won't learn that here, Rilla... Let's stay here at Redwall."
It only took a minute of pondering on Rilla's part to answer. "I like it here too, Brig... Let's stay. Let's stay until Rand's old enough to decide on his own." She closed her eyes, leaning back against the feather pillow. "I like it here."
"Aye," Brig whispered, falling into a chair next to her, his own eyes drooping after waiting all night long without rest, "I likes it here too."
Together, the new parents drifted off into sleep along with their only son.
While Starstripe carried the orphaned leveret Cheekah Comettail, the Skipper of Otters paced back and forth outside of Redwall's Infirmary door, his paws clutched behind his back. Every once and a while, his eyes would glance up to the door, then fall back to where his footpaws seemed to be digging a ditch for themselves. The occasional Redwaller would pass by, giving him their well wishes and good fortunes. He would nod in return, too nervous to speak back. He had reason to worry. A few seasons ago, he and his mate Rilla had lost a tiny otter during birth. They could now only hope that the same didn't occur this time. A young, scrawny mouse came bumbling up the stairs, tripping over the hem of his habit, which was much too large for him. The Skipper looked up to him.
"Gerrad, what're you doin' out o' the kitchen?" he asked. The mouse adjusted the chef's hat on his ears and saluted the Skipper generously.
"Sir, Lady Trem says you're in need of some vittles, sir!" The mouse, between the ages of a Dibbun and an adult, was the assistant cook at Redwall... Or at least he was trying to be. A smile formed on Skipper's muzzle. He'd never seen a more determined little beast.
"Aye, that great hunk o' a cook keeps tryin' to shove vittles down me throat, she does." Skipper snatched the hat off of Gerrad's head and ruffled the fur between the mouse's ears fondly. "You tell that 'edgepig I'll be havin' nothin' to eat 'till Rilla's safe an' sound, you 'ear me?"
"But- but sir..." Gerrad began, turning to look back down the stairs. Trem, Redwall's hedgehog cook, was trundling upwards with a tray laden with steaming victuals. Skipper shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. The cook was muttering to herself as she waddled up the stairs intently.
"I says to him 'You bring that otter down here, young'un!' But here I am, troddin' up the stairs... Far too old to be carryin' food to ornery otters..."
"Only as ornery as you, Sister!" Skipper called, nearly making Trem fall backwards. Gerrad had to hold in his laugh. The tray of food was shoved into the mouse's paws, however, as Trem pointed a finger at Skipper.
"You're gonna wear away to skin an' bones, Skipper Brig, if you don't feed yourself goodly now, you understand? I wanna see you first to breakfast every morn, or you'll hear from me, otter!" Trem's finger was only inches away from Skipper's nose. He knew she meant well. He patted the paw that was pointing accusingly at him.
"Shore, I'll do that, marm."
"I'll hold ye to that, ye great Skipper of the blasted Otters!" She tugged on Gerrad's ear, and the mouse handed the tray to Skipper Brig. Taking the food, he watched the two make their way back to the kitchens.
"What're we making for breakfast, marm?" Gerrad asked. Trem tweaked his ear.
"Nothin', if you keep your yammerin', boy! Hold me arm, please. I'm gettin' too old to walk these stairs."
"Yes, marm."
Skipper Brig leaned up against the wall opposite the Infirmary door and munched on a lovely blueberry scone covered in meadowcream. Just as he was about to take a sip of freshly brewed October Ale, the door opened to reveal the head of Sister Fern, the vole Infirmary keeper. A smile spread over her face, and she nodded, motioning for the Skipper to enter the room. His appetite and food forgotten, he moved into the room, almost stumbling over his rudder on his way in. Rilla, in a bed on the far side of the room, sniggered softly. Brig breathed in and out upon seeing the wonderful bundle in his mate's arms. Seeing his astonishment, she beckoned him to her side. In an instant he was there, staring at the otterbabe with wide eyes.
"He looks like you, Brig," Rilla whispered, playing with the unruly tuft of fur between the babe's ears. Skipper Brig tried to smooth his own identical tuft of fur down awkwardly. The baby's great blue eyes stared up at his father, and he squeaked encouragingly. Brig laughed heartily, letting his son take his finger.
"So he's a boy, huh? Haharr, he'll make a fine otter, won't he? Have you given the little sprout a name yet?"
"Yes," Rilla said, "but I wanted your approval first." She watched as her son's eyelids drooped and he yawned widely. "I called him Rand."
"Rand, Skipper of Otters... What do you think, Sister Fern?" the Skipper turned to the vole, who had shied to the corner.
"Why, it seems like a fittin' name, but why ye ask me, I have no idea. I was just off to tell the Abbess that a new Redwaller has arrived. At least now I have a name to tell her." Without another word, the little creature was gone. Skipper sighed and lay a paw on his wife's shoulder.
"Finally, Rilla... Our own child." He was silent for moments on hand, and then he squeezed her shoulder lightly. "He's a beauty, ain't he?"
Without warning, the Infirmary was inundated by a flood of Dibbuns. Mice, moles, otters, shrews, squirrels, even a young leveret were present. They all wanted to see the baby. All of them were chattering at once, the two new parents overwhelmed by the sudden change in the room's population. They looked at each other, bewildered, then began laughing. A tiny squirrel maid, Keela, sniffled lightly.
"Oy, why're thos'uns laffin' at us likkle ones?" she asked. Her friend Duggum, Foremole's little son, piped up in his odd mole speech.
"They'm just havved ee baby. Mebbe they'm toired," Duggum offered. There was another loud chattering that spread through the Dibbuns as they tried to sneak peeks at the newest addition. It stopped almost immediately as Abbess Flaura entered the Infirmary with Sister Fern.
"Is some beast having some sort of celebration in here?" the Abbess asked, a smile playing on her wizened features. A tiny mouse waved a spoon in the air above her head.
"We should 'ave a cellybrayshun!" she squeaked.
"Why do you think we should have a celebration, Tellarina?" Abbess Flaura asked, bending down to the mouse maid's level. The Dibbun pulled a face.
"I don' like a be called Tellarina. I like a be called Telly! An' we should 'ave a cellybrayshun cuz the ol' Skipper 'ad a baby!" Telly called. There was an uproar of consent among the gathered Dibbuns. The Abbess held up her hands for quiet, and she got it, only after a few minutes for the Dibbuns to cheer.
"The Harvest Festival is coming in only a week, so I do not think it would be utterly impossible to also celebrate the birth of young Rand at the Autumn Feast..."
Another cheer went up amongst the Dibbuns. Gerrad stuck his head into the room, an inquisitive look on his features.
"What's going on in here? I can hear you lot from the kitchens!" Gerrad voiced. Telly waddled up to him and handed her spoon to the older mouse.
"We's a have us'ns a cellybrayshun!" Telly said gleefully. Flaura smiled at Gerrad, whose face was now a mask of horror.
"You mean we have to cook for the Autumn Feast AND this 'cellybrayshun'?" his pleading eyes looked to his Abbess, who shook her head.
"It's to be the same day as the feast."
"Hohoho!" Skipper laughed as he walked over and clapped Gerrad on the back, knocking the wind out of him, "You should 'ave seen your face, matey! Hohoho, that was a good'un, Mother Abbess!" Gerrad smiled weakly, knowing a joke of some sort had been played on him. Rilla, her face warm and inviting, motioned for the assistant cook to come to her bedside. He did, and when he saw the otterbabe, he made a low whistle.
"Well, don't he look just like his dad? What's his name now?"
"Rand," Rilla played with the tuft of hair between her son's ears again, "Rand, the Great Skipper of Otters."
"Fine name..." Gerrad said. He turned around sharply, only to stumble on the hem of his habit again. The Dibbun laughed, and blood rushed to Gerrad's face. "Err, well, off to cook now, marm..." He hurried out of the room. Rilla laughed. She had grown quite fond of the young mouse, and so had Skipper Brig. Sister Fern was now among the Dibbuns, shooing them unceremoniously from the room.
"Go on now, time ye went down to the Great Hall. Ye heard what Gerrad said, he an' Trem are cookin' up a storm for ye. Go on now!" The vole followed the Dibbuns out, leaving Rilla, Skipper Brig, Abbess Flaura and baby Rand alone in the Infirmary. Flaura leaned over and looked at the otterbabe, now fast asleep in his mother's arms.
"It could not have happened to two better beasts, Skipper, Rilla. He's a beautiful babe. I'm sure he'll make a fine Skipper some day."
"Aye, that he will," Brig boasted, throwing out his chest. "Just like his father, an' his father before him."
"Good luck to both of you. Now, if you don't mind," a kind smile formed on Flaura's muzzle, "Gerrad makes some of the best blueberry tarts in Mossflower country." She made a slight curtsey before exiting. Rilla's paw rested on Skipper's.
"I like her, Brig. She's so kind."
"That she is. Redwall's a wonderful place." He sat for a moment in silence. "It would be a wonderful place for Rand to grow up in." Rilla looked at him, astonished.
"I thought you wanted him to live like you had when your father was training you to be Skipper; you would live on the streams for days on end!"
"Aye, but times 'ave changed now. I wan' my boy to grow up without knowin' death an' hate. He won't learn that here, Rilla... Let's stay here at Redwall."
It only took a minute of pondering on Rilla's part to answer. "I like it here too, Brig... Let's stay. Let's stay until Rand's old enough to decide on his own." She closed her eyes, leaning back against the feather pillow. "I like it here."
"Aye," Brig whispered, falling into a chair next to her, his own eyes drooping after waiting all night long without rest, "I likes it here too."
Together, the new parents drifted off into sleep along with their only son.