Sorry it took me so long to update, I've been in more of a reading mood than a writing mood lately. Thanks everyone for their great reviews! A special thanks to Stormrose Dewleaf for adding this to her faves! A quote from Young Dinny in Mossflower pretty much sums up how I feel about that: "O joy, O 'arpiness!"

I'm sorry this chapter is so short, the next one will be longer, I promise!

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall. Brian Jacques does. But I do own this plot.

December 29, 2004

Chapter 3

Martin was lost in his red world. He didn't know where he was, what he was doing, when he had gotten there. All his senses of time and being had left him as quickly as a hawk bolts for its prey. All he could feel was anger. It seemed a flame was alight inside of him and it was burning larger and larger by the second. He wanted to get rid of it, put it out, stamp on it until all that was left was ashes and smoke. But the fire burned on. Martin didn't know what was happening. He just felt so mad. He felt like throwing things and screaming. He clenched is fists so hard his claws bit into the flesh of his palm, and he could feel a small trickle of blood run down his wrist.

All he could see was red. It was like someone had dyed the water of a lake bright red and thrown Martin in it. Was he drowning? He couldn't remember being near water. He couldn't remember anything at all. He felt dizzy and light-headed. Everything he saw before him was too blurry to make out, and objects were swirling around him. He fought the impulse to vomit. His anger grew steadily on.

Martin began to panic. He didn't know who he was anymore, much less where he was going. His anger was boiling now. Excruciating pain seared through his body. But he felt his sword in his right paw. His father's sword. With this useful weapon, Martin could satisfy his thirst for violence. He could stab, slice and hack with this sword. His anger would subside if he attacked something, anything, Martin was sure of it. He raised his blade high above his head, yelling with determination. He was just about to bring it crashing to ground, destroying everything in its path, when he heard a voice.

A sweet, heavenly voice and it was singing.

"See the roving river run

Over hill and dale

To a secret forest place,

O my heart, Noonvale."

Martin stopped and listened. He had heard this voice before. It was so calm and reassuring. He had heard this song before too, when he was last engulfed in the red mist, right before he had met Azalea. But Martin was positive he heard it even before that. Memories came flooding back to his brain. His anger subsided a little. The red faded a fraction. The heavenly, yet quiet voice grew stronger.

"Look for me at dawning

When the sun's reborn

In the silent beauty

Twixt the night and morn.

Wait till the lark ascends

And skies are blue,

There where the rainbow ends

I will meet you."

The words of the song echoed around. Martin knew the girl's beautiful voice; he remembered it so vividly now. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten it. His head seized spinning. His feeling of anger hastily left him, and a feeling of sadness and loneliness replaced it. The red gradually lifted itself from his vision. Martin dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the ground.

The familiar voice was leaving, and Martin silently begged it to stay, for he had now remembered the owner's name.

Laterose.

The autumn breeze rustled the branches and leaves of the great forest trees. Water bubbled and splashed in a small, cool spring that rose from a batch of rocks. Birds, sitting in their nests, preparing for the cooler weather ahead, chirped harmoniously. Butterflies floated around the many colorful flowers, as if dancing a secret dance known only to their kind. A single, reddened leaf, withered and dead fell to the forest floor. This was unusual, seeing as most of the leaves had not even begun to change color yet. A woodpecker tapped against the trunk of a tree. The woodpecker was not the only creature in that tree on the day, nor had it ever been.

A small mole poked her bonnet-clad head out the window of her tree house. She shooed the noisy bird away with a stained apron. She hated the woodpeckers, they made her nervous, for fear her tree might fall down because of them. It was an irrational thought, but nobody informed Polleekin.

"Gurt burdbag, always a-tappin', hurr aye." Polleekin mumbled to herself as she searched for some ingredients to make an apple pie. She was expecting visitors.

Bustling about, she came across some stale mushrooms in a cupboard. Moving to toss them away, a sad thought occurred to her. She once knew a young, strong hedgehog who had a love for mushrooms.

Polleekin sighed. She knew Pallum was safe, and so weren't his dear mouse and mole friends, Brome and Grumm, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for them. It had been quite some time since Pallum and Grumm, accompanied by two mice, Martin and Rose, first set foot in Polleekin's tree home. They had wanted to be on their way and continue on their journey to free the slaves from Badrang the Tyrant, but she hadn't wanted them to go. She knew the female mouse would meet her death once they returned to Marshank. But it was Rose's fate, something Polleekin had no control over.

"All manner o'things run through moi ole 'ead," Polleekin sighed. Sometimes, she very much dislike her sixth sense, but she knew it helped many beasts. And she was certain she would be helping Martin the warrior with her knowledge, which was why she had told her dear chipmunk friend of him just several days before.

"Martin! Martin?"

Martin awoke to the sounds of Azalea softly calling his name. When he finally wrenched open his eyes, he noticed how dark it was out, and he was no longer out in the open near the pond. He wondered where he was, for all he could see was trees and leaves. And then he realized how high up he was.

"Yeeeaaargh!" Martin shot up like an arrow out of a bow and ran along a sturdy branch. He hugged a tree trunk tightly, trying hard not to look down from his dizzying height. Why was he up in a tree?

Azalea chuckled slightly. "Sorry about that, yes I am. But you were out cold, and that's what we did with unconscious creatures when I lived with the squirrels, yup yup."

"Squirrels?!" Everything was happening so fast, Martin's head was beginning to spin. He sat down his back against the tree trunk.

"I used to live with a squirrel tribe after I got separated from mine, yup yup. But more about me later; how ya feeling?" Azalea peeled off a cold, wet leaf that was plastered to Martin's forehead. He hadn't even noticed it.

Martin shrugged. "Better, I guess. Thank you for doing everything for me." He risked a glance below him at the forest floor. Obviously, it was quite a way down. "By the way, how did you manage to get me up here?"

Azalea winked. "I'm stronger then I look, yes I am."

Martin nodded, for it was true. He wouldn't have believed Azalea to be as tough as she was if he had not seen her slay that rat with his own two eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, Azalea spoke. "I've seen a lot of creatures who've had that there Bloodwrath in me time, but they on'y experienced it during heated battle. Tell me something Martin," she said quietly, "why did you suddenly come down with it when you were standing in front of that defenseless ferret? When I first laid me eyes on you, ya struck me as a true warrior, but not a merciless one."

Martin sighed. "I don't know what came over me, Azalea. I've also had the Bloodwrath during battle, but lately it's been happening at random moments. Like earlier today, I was just sitting and thinking, when it hit me like a ton of bricks."

Azalea stood up and beckoned Martin towards her. "Maybe a good night's sleep will help. Follow me, Martin." Apparently, she wanted to end the conversation.

Martin got up to follow, but stopped dead in his tracks. He never recalled telling Azalea his name. "How did you know what my name was?"

The goofy, trademark grin of the chipmunk spread across her face. "I think we have a common mole friend, yup yup."