CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SEARCHERS AND VERMIN

Nearly a season had passed since Riverwyte had left Camp Willow, and nobeast had seen the gray otter for a long time.

Skipper was getting worried about him. He popped a candied chestnut into his mouth as he paced across camp. Suddenly the otter got a flash of inspiration and jogged off to the storeroom for a large bag of the sweet nuts before he took off into the forest.

A chubby robin was perched in an ivy-covered tree as Skipper stopped beneath it. The bird's bright eye watched the bag of candied chestnuts as the big otter shook it and caused the contents to rattle.

"Ahoy there, Chibb! I've got a mission for you t'take under yore wing!"

The robin stepped further out onto the branch so the otter Chieftain could see him. "Garrumph, ahem! What do you want of me? Can't stay around all day." His beady eyes shifted nervously.

Skipper crinkled the bag a bit and watched a drop of saliva drop off the end of Chibb's beak. "I need you to find my brother, Riverwyte. He has gray fur and pale eyes, and he often wears a vest and a kilt. He's probably somewhere north of here."

Chibb eyed the bag of candied chestnuts hungrily but resisted the urge. He hopped forward on the branch. "That doesn't give me, harrumph, much to go on."

Skipper gave the robin a look of pained anguish. "Please, mate. I haven't seen my brother in for a season now. I'd like to know that he's alive."

Chibb looked from Skipper's pleading face to the bag of candied chestnuts he held tightly in one paw. Opening his wings, he dropped from the tree and landed in front of the big otter. Looking solemnly up at Skipper, the robin bobbed his head once. "Er, I'll do it!"

Not much later, Chibb winged over Camp Willow, the sack of candied chestnuts strapped to his side.

Somewhere in the northern woods, a band of rats was making its way through the trees as they searched for plunder. The leader was a big, burly, black rat named Throkk. He had a large gold earring in his left ear and teeth, bones, and claws hanging from his broad leather belt. Other than that he wore loose, knee-length brown pants and two belts strapped diagonally across his chest. Presently he climbed up the trunk of a tree that had broken off ten feet above the ground. Searching the landscape, he noticed a faint wisp of smoke and sniffed the air. "Ahhhh, me 'earties," he cackled to his twenty rats. "Who wants to taste mouse tonight? Goreclaw, C'mere an' tell me what you think."

Goreclaw was a gray rat of medium build with half a tail. He scaled the tree stump and sat next to Throkk. The ends of the purple bandanna tied about his brow fluttered in the breeze as he broke into an evil grin. "Methinks tonight after those mice fall asleep, we should surprise 'em wid a nice barbecue."

Throkk smiled appreciatively. Goreclaw was a fairly new recruit but he showed all the bloodthirstiness that the rat leader admired. "Heh heh...soun's good t'me."

Goreclaw looked around and noticed the rest of the rats were standing at ease around a small fire they were coaxing to life. He nodded slightly. It was time.

Throkk suddenly squealed and fell dead from the tree. Goreclaw climbed swiftly down, holding a bloodstained dagger in his paw. As the gray rat reached the forest floor, one of the others called to him. "'Ey Goreclaw! What was that?"

Goreclaw held up his reddened dagger. "Throkk's dead. I killed 'im," he confessed matter-of-factly.

Another rat ran up to his gray-furred compatriot. "Wot 'ja do that for? Only a sickbeast slays 'is own kind!"

Goreclaw sneered. Why d'you think I did it then, if yore so smart?!"

The rat bared his teeth. "'Cuz you want to be leader, eh?"

Goreclaw suddenly ripped off his muzzle and flung away his tail stump. "Guess again, vermin! I, the Mask, have come to send you all to the teeth of death!"