CHAPTER SEVEN: TRAINING
As the sun rose over Mossflower, most beasts were still asleep. However, the secret otter headquarters at Camp Willow, named for the huge willow tree growing over it, was bustling with activity. Five seasons had passed since the warrior council at the Rock, and otters and squirrels alike were training with all their strength in the woods. Riverwyte, Bargud, and Warthorn (who everyone affectionately called Skipper after his outburst at the meeting) were old enough to train with the others, being ten seasons old. (For an otter, this was about the middle of adolescence, approximately 15 or 16 by human standards.)
All the squirrels were in the trees practicing archery by shooting at targets while jumping from branch to branch. Some, like young Amber, daughter of the Squirrelqueen and almost as old as the three otter brothers, were so proficient at this drill that they had somebeast move the target while they practiced.
Amber nocked an arrow to her bowstring and called, "Taking off!" As she bounded through the trees, her mother pulled the target in random directions on a rope. The target slid left; Amber adjusted her aim and fired. The shaft sunk deep into the red bullseye, only slightly off center.
Ivy grunted as she tugged the arrow out. Beaming, she took hold of the rope once more. "Do that three more times and you'll be done for the day!"
By the river, Rockfist blew on a carved wooden whistle. A row of ten otters charged out of the river, double-pointed javelins held forward as they hit a column of "vermin" made from dead grass and old blankets sewn together. Rockfist, who had been elected Chieftain of the joint ottercrews, nodded. "Good work, mates. Try to come out a bit faster next time."
One drove his javelin into the ground and slicked water off his arms. "Righto, Rock!"
The big otter waved him off to clear the charging ground. "All right, next group!"
Ten otters in the river submerged, gripping their javelins and awaiting the signal.
Riverwyte and his brothers were practicing paw-to-paw combat on the riverbank. Skipper had picked out a tall, rotting tree stump and was pretending that it was an enemy, stabbing and thrusting at it with his javelin. Bargud, who preferred the heavier spear, imagined a vermin standing before him as he jabbed expertly at the air. Riverwyte slashed and stabbed at the branches of a maple tree with his rapier, an unusual weapon choice for an otter.
Skipper and Bargud had grown a lot over the seasons, and all the training they had endured showed in their well-developed arm, leg, and rudder muscles. Riverwyte, on the other hand, was nearly as tall as his brothers and had trained just as hard, but he remained slim and lanky without the impressive muscular bulk of Skipper and Bargud. However, this was deceiving. One day the training had consisted of wrestling matches among the otters, and many a burly beast had challenged the odd gray otter expecting to pin him in a matter of seconds. Unexpectedly, Riverwyte had defeated all comers, even Skipper, his biggest brother. He also possessed more paw speed than the average otter, a reason he was so proficient with his rapier.
Skipper eventually grew bored with ripping apart the stump with his javelin, and he stuck it in the banksand. "I can't believe we're attacking Kotir in five days," he sighed. "This doesn't feel right. I'm as angry as the next otter that the wildcat came here and I'd like to fight him like everyone else, but we should have recruited at least a hundred more fighters. Even if the vermin have completely given up training and become as soft as anybeast can be, the panic of our attack will probably lend them enough strength to jeopardize our chances of winning."
Bargud stuck his spear in the bank next to Skipper's. "Aye, but as hopeless as our cause is, I'm still ready to fight for it."
Riverwyte finished mutilating a maple branch and sheathed his blade. "I say a bit of spy work wouldn't hurt. Or maybe an assassin." He turned and slipped into the forest, leaving his brothers to stare at each other and wonder what their strange brother was up to. Skipper suddenly forgot about Riverwyte when a ferret with a gold earring stumped bad-temperedly out of the woods behind them, snarling. Skipper bounded forward and grabbed the vermin by his filthy tunic, putting a small knife he owned to its throat and growling, "Don't move."
The ferret chuckled and dusted the dark markings from his face, then brushed the dirt from his tunic. Unclipping the gold earring, he soothed, "It's okay, mate; it's just me."
Skipper recognized the beast as Riverwyte and let him go quickly with a surprised smile. "Wow, how'd you do that?"
Riverwyte shrugged. "Simple. The key is to not just look like the creature you're imitating, but also to move and think the way it would. I'm imagining that perhaps a ferret will hook up with a Kotir patrol, saying he'd been lost in the woods. He returns to Kotir and while the horde goes about his business, he's headed up to Greeneye's chamber with a dagger in his paw..."
Skipper shook his head fervently. "Good idea, Riverwyte, but you know that Dad or Rockfist will never let you do that. It wouldn't be a very honorable victory."
Riverwyte shrugged again. "Oh well. At least my rapier and I will give them something to remember in the battle."
As the sun rose over Mossflower, most beasts were still asleep. However, the secret otter headquarters at Camp Willow, named for the huge willow tree growing over it, was bustling with activity. Five seasons had passed since the warrior council at the Rock, and otters and squirrels alike were training with all their strength in the woods. Riverwyte, Bargud, and Warthorn (who everyone affectionately called Skipper after his outburst at the meeting) were old enough to train with the others, being ten seasons old. (For an otter, this was about the middle of adolescence, approximately 15 or 16 by human standards.)
All the squirrels were in the trees practicing archery by shooting at targets while jumping from branch to branch. Some, like young Amber, daughter of the Squirrelqueen and almost as old as the three otter brothers, were so proficient at this drill that they had somebeast move the target while they practiced.
Amber nocked an arrow to her bowstring and called, "Taking off!" As she bounded through the trees, her mother pulled the target in random directions on a rope. The target slid left; Amber adjusted her aim and fired. The shaft sunk deep into the red bullseye, only slightly off center.
Ivy grunted as she tugged the arrow out. Beaming, she took hold of the rope once more. "Do that three more times and you'll be done for the day!"
By the river, Rockfist blew on a carved wooden whistle. A row of ten otters charged out of the river, double-pointed javelins held forward as they hit a column of "vermin" made from dead grass and old blankets sewn together. Rockfist, who had been elected Chieftain of the joint ottercrews, nodded. "Good work, mates. Try to come out a bit faster next time."
One drove his javelin into the ground and slicked water off his arms. "Righto, Rock!"
The big otter waved him off to clear the charging ground. "All right, next group!"
Ten otters in the river submerged, gripping their javelins and awaiting the signal.
Riverwyte and his brothers were practicing paw-to-paw combat on the riverbank. Skipper had picked out a tall, rotting tree stump and was pretending that it was an enemy, stabbing and thrusting at it with his javelin. Bargud, who preferred the heavier spear, imagined a vermin standing before him as he jabbed expertly at the air. Riverwyte slashed and stabbed at the branches of a maple tree with his rapier, an unusual weapon choice for an otter.
Skipper and Bargud had grown a lot over the seasons, and all the training they had endured showed in their well-developed arm, leg, and rudder muscles. Riverwyte, on the other hand, was nearly as tall as his brothers and had trained just as hard, but he remained slim and lanky without the impressive muscular bulk of Skipper and Bargud. However, this was deceiving. One day the training had consisted of wrestling matches among the otters, and many a burly beast had challenged the odd gray otter expecting to pin him in a matter of seconds. Unexpectedly, Riverwyte had defeated all comers, even Skipper, his biggest brother. He also possessed more paw speed than the average otter, a reason he was so proficient with his rapier.
Skipper eventually grew bored with ripping apart the stump with his javelin, and he stuck it in the banksand. "I can't believe we're attacking Kotir in five days," he sighed. "This doesn't feel right. I'm as angry as the next otter that the wildcat came here and I'd like to fight him like everyone else, but we should have recruited at least a hundred more fighters. Even if the vermin have completely given up training and become as soft as anybeast can be, the panic of our attack will probably lend them enough strength to jeopardize our chances of winning."
Bargud stuck his spear in the bank next to Skipper's. "Aye, but as hopeless as our cause is, I'm still ready to fight for it."
Riverwyte finished mutilating a maple branch and sheathed his blade. "I say a bit of spy work wouldn't hurt. Or maybe an assassin." He turned and slipped into the forest, leaving his brothers to stare at each other and wonder what their strange brother was up to. Skipper suddenly forgot about Riverwyte when a ferret with a gold earring stumped bad-temperedly out of the woods behind them, snarling. Skipper bounded forward and grabbed the vermin by his filthy tunic, putting a small knife he owned to its throat and growling, "Don't move."
The ferret chuckled and dusted the dark markings from his face, then brushed the dirt from his tunic. Unclipping the gold earring, he soothed, "It's okay, mate; it's just me."
Skipper recognized the beast as Riverwyte and let him go quickly with a surprised smile. "Wow, how'd you do that?"
Riverwyte shrugged. "Simple. The key is to not just look like the creature you're imitating, but also to move and think the way it would. I'm imagining that perhaps a ferret will hook up with a Kotir patrol, saying he'd been lost in the woods. He returns to Kotir and while the horde goes about his business, he's headed up to Greeneye's chamber with a dagger in his paw..."
Skipper shook his head fervently. "Good idea, Riverwyte, but you know that Dad or Rockfist will never let you do that. It wouldn't be a very honorable victory."
Riverwyte shrugged again. "Oh well. At least my rapier and I will give them something to remember in the battle."