Chapter 11

Longtooth the rat and Knobear the weasel sat under the shade of a withered tree as the late afternoon waned. "Strange," Longtooth commented some way through their hushed conversation, " 'is Might'ness ain't been 'imself th' past day'r so. S'had 'imself shut up in 'is tent since noon yesterday an' ain't said scarce a word."

"Aye, cap'n, yer right. Seems t'me even that exercution yesserday 'e didn't enjoy much as 'e used to." Knobear ran a claw across his scarred cheek, thinking back. "Aye, I knowed it ever since we left th'woods day afore last..."

Longtooth snapped to attention, turning his head towards the weasel. "Wot are yer talkin' 'bout? That's one day I'd like t'ferget. Y'know 'e'll prob'ly go right back there within a fortnight wid' th' entire 'orde at 'is back t'get them woodlanders."

"Jus' wot I mean," Knobear continued, gnawing at his lip hungrily. "It's that fox, cap'n. Y'remember, don't ye? That great big fox wot was fightin' fer th' woodlanders an' chucked 'is spear at ol' Krigg 'imself. Struck me as 'e ain't been th'same since, like 'e were-- scared of 'im?"

"That's treasonous talk, Knobear. Yew know that," Longtooth muttered as he eyed the weasel, before leaning back against the tree and shutting his eyes. " 'Is Might'ness wouldn't 'ear o' no 'ordebeast callin' 'im scared o' nobeast, 'specially wid' 'is pet Durg listenin' 'round fer 'im... Heh heh, while 'e can," he chuckled to himself, drifting slowly to sleep.

.

In reality Knobear's suspicions were not far wrong. Skarliff Krigg's mind had not long left the thought of the black fox of the woods who had dared to challenge him. And then to add to his troubles, a group of his foraging rats had run into camp under one called Stabear, yelling news of a mad otter on the loose half a day's march down the river. Morale was slipping, even after the graphic execution he had overseen the day before. If he was going to keep the horde unconditionally under his control, he would have to make some examples-- in the horde and out.

And so the wheels of Skarliff Krigg's twisted mind turned, seeking the means to an end-- yes, and end; the end of any but himself.

.

Early evening of the day the Mossflower Patrol had been formed saw a small group of volunteers gathered at Treestone Glade already. Many who had decided to join the patrol had gone home to gather their few possessions and had not returned yet; others had been sent in different directions to spread the news of the new patrol and would return in a few days.

Poisonleaf Wolfbane sat in the shade of a tree at the edge of the glade, jovial as ever, even in the absence of his friend Temmlock who had gone as a messenger, so that nobeast could have even hinted at his stormy disposition earlier that day. As Temmlock had guessed, the storm had not rained itself out as of yet, but for the moment it had at least passed out of sight. He was watching an archery contest between a few of the younger beasts when two hefty moles came up the path and greeted the fox.

"Greetings, friends," he said as he shook their strong digging claws. "I know one of you-- you were at the meeting this morning, weren't you?"

The mole tugged his snout. "Yurr, that'n be roight. Oi be's Urrmun ee mole. Oi brought moin brother Urrburt an' we'm be wanten to join ee Farst Purtrol if'n ee'll take us. Din't 'ave much of ee 'ome leastways, zurr, an' we'm much be rather foighten ee vurrm'n th'n 'ousekeep'n'."

"Well you and your brother Herbert are more than welcome, Herman," said Wolfbane with a smile at their heavy country accents.

"Hurr, you'm be getten et wrong zurr," the brother said, "we'm be's Urrburt 'n' Urrmun!"

In the deep end of the glade opposite the path, where the archery contest was going on, Shadowfeather was instructing some of the younger recruits on the sue of a bow. The vixen was working with a squirrel named Swiftleaf, the young female squirrel who had spoken to Wolfbane at the meeting. After getting the proper stance, she released the string with a twang. The arrow glanced off, landing a few feet in front of somebeast else's target.

"Nice try-- you'll get it," Shadowfeather called as Swiftleaf bent over to pick up the stray arrow. As she came up to a standing position an arrow whizzed just above her head and thudded into the tree, causing her to hit her head on the shivering shaft on her way up. It was dead center on the target.

"Who shot that!" she yelled, yanking the arrow and throwing it. "It could have hit me!"

"As a matter of fact," came a voice, "it did. Or rather, you hit it." On the path with bow in paw stood Ottakar the Archer, who had just arrived with his friend Maxillo. "You might try sighting a line from the end of your arrow to the target, if it'll help. Oh, and keep the fletching on the right-- it won't hit the bow that way."

Swiftleaf visibly stewed. "That was a very careless thing to do! It could have hit me!" But her intended ears had already dismissed her, going instead to see the commander Wolfbane. She stalked off, sitting down under a tree and remaining wordless the rest of the evening.

"Pleasant evening, Poisonleaf," he said, sitting down in the shade. "How are things with our new Commander?"

"Wolfbane, if you please. Not my given name but it works," the fox said with his eyes still closed, from the short nap he had been taking before Ottakar's arrival. "But Commander Poisonleaf is feeling well, thank you. I've had an extremely good rest and feel fresh as a daisy."

"A rather large daisy," commented Ottakar. "Where's Temm?"

"Oh, he's gone a bit northeast of here, looking for volunteers. He'll be back around tomorrow afternoon. Hmm… sounds like we have a winner already." Even with his eyes closed Wolfbane had judged correctly, for at that moment a fairly-young squirrel was being awarded by Shadowfeather with a quiver of newly-fletched arrows. Wolfbane got up slowly, opening his eyes finally. "Reckon I should congratulate him, eh?" Followed by Ottakar the Commander came and shook the squirrel's paw. "What's your name, young Master?"

"Tug, sir. I want to be a great fighter like you someday, and fight in battles, and kill lots of vermin." Childish as this statement sounded, it was said with genuine, if not naïve, sincerity.

"Tch, tch," Wolfbane replied, shaking his head. " 'Tis not a glorious thing t'shed blood, son' an' the most important thing a warrior learns is how to avoid it. How old are you, young 'un?"

"I became an adult last season, sir, and I'm no young 'un. I can take care of myself."

"Bah, 'ee's just a mere seedling," the fox joked, ruffling the squirrel's headfur. "When y'get t'be as old as I am, then you'll know. Besides, you're in the Forest Patrol now; it's my job to take care of you."

.

That night the Forest Patrol pitched its tents at the edge of Treestone Glade. The score or so beasts already there sat around a small fire, warming themselves from the Autumn winds. The moles Urrmun and Urrburt were eventually persuaded to sing a mole song about cakes and puddings, which most only half understood and the brothers only half remembered. Wolfbane laughed the hardest of all when the brothers differed on the words, stopping to make it up as they went. Finally paws were clapped over their mouths as they began the "twenny-oneteened" verse, but even afterwards the moles sat, disputing the words to the next thirty-odd verses.

While several beasts including Wolfbane were still in stitches, Ottakar and Maxillo stepped forward and began a comic traditional play they had learned in Southsward. Maxillo was heckling the Vermin King, played by Ottakar, when everybeast suddenly sat upright, aroused by something unnatural in the woods nearby. Drawing a short sword that had been laying on the ground, Wolfbane kicked out the fire, motioning to Ottakar and Shadowfeather to circle northward where the sounds had come from. Wolfbane went a few feet in the middle of the others, and they disappeared into the darkness of the forest. Long moments passed in the camp, lit now only by the moonlight. Suddenly they all heard the sounds of a struggle, and voices yelling out. There were two which were unrecognized.

"Ach, lay yer paws aff'n me ye vermin, an' Ah'll fight ye to mah die'n brith!"

"It's alright, we're friends-- Otta, Shadowfeather, put up your weapons, it's just a hedgehog."

"I say thah chaps, that's a bit strong-- a hedgehog? Never thought m'bally ears were that short, wot!"

Wolfbane laughed. "Looks like we're surrounded! Any others out there?" he called into the trees jokingly.

"Es thes the way ye always weelcome yer guests," the hedgehog asked, "or am Ah an ac'ception?"

"No, sorry," Wolfbane apologized, "but you can't assume anything when beasts come sneaking in on you."

"Ah onnerstan' then fren', but 'tis said the best way to a strange camp es 'roond. Mah name's Screech, or a'least 'tis whit Ah'm called. Ah'm looking for the new Forest Patrol-- et shoold be 'roondaboots, aye?"

"Well then, you've come to the right place, Screech. I am Poisonleaf Wolfbane, Commander of the Mossflower Forest Patrol."

As they shook paws the hedgehog took a second look at the Commander in the dim moonlight and took a jump back with a slight gasp. "Gads, 'tis a fox!"

"Aye," he laughed, "aye, I am. But unlike my own kind I have devoted my life to the protection of the weak and the upholding of good. It was these beasts you see here who elected me their Commander."

"I say, eh-- sorry t' interrupt, sahs," the hare cut in, "but got anything for a poor famished traveler? My tum's been growlin' f'rever-- a few hours, all said." Wolfbane winked at the hedgehog.

"How long 'ave you been with the hare? I'll wager the food disappeared quicker than a shadow in midwinter."

"Nay," the hedgehog winked back. "Ah thought th' shadow wis wi' you."

"Well we've never seen him before. Must be a coincidence."

"Er, hrmph, pardon me chaps, wot wot, pish tush an' all that rot, don't mean t'be churlish y'know, wot, eh, wot wot, eh… could y'spare a bite or two from y'bally formidable fare, wot?"

Wolfbane laughed again. "Of course, friend! What name do you go by?"

The hare wiggled his ears imperiously. "Jorman Longfeet, esquire, at y'service, sah!" He saluted smartly, knocking his heels and standing at attention.

"Hmm hmm, if only all our recruits were so enthusiastic," Wolfbane mused. He clapped the hare on the back. "Welcome to the Mossflower Forest Patrol!"

"Forest what, sah? Pardon, m' ears seems t'be--" Jorman suddenly eyed a pan of scones from Redwall. "Er, on second thought… I know all about Patrols an' wotnot! That's me, ol' Cap'n Longfeet, Patrols is what I do best!" He turned, eager to prove himself, and grabbed a nearby tent post to serve as an impromptu weapon.

The tent collapsed.