Sorry it took me so long to bang out this chapter. It might take equally long for the next one, as I'm battling a mild case of writer's block. It's not fun. Anywho, please R&R and thanks to everyone who has replied with wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: Don't own Redwall. Belongs to the almighty Lord Brian Jacques. I also don't own the lyrics to Living Rooms, they belong to the band Revis.

January 21, 2004

Chapter 9

The sky was a mild autumn blue, and afternoon shadows stretched long and thin. Clouds smothered the hills and left the entire landscape appearing like it was enveloped in soft cotton. Birds chirped ceaselessly, and the gentle breeze whispered secrets to all who was outside on that lovely day.

A solitary mouse stood with her back to the village in this certain valley. Her earrings tinkled in the wind, and her dress ruffled about her. Her eyes, a deep chocolate brown, stared straight ahead; they were emotionless, as emotionless as the expression on her face.

I need to get out of the house, she thought as she grabbed a light cloak and raced out the door of the thatched building. Her husband was seething with rage, but she didn't care. The hell with him! She was an adult; she could do whatever she felt like. She didn't care if he didn't say another word to her for a season, she was happy with her decision and her mind was firmly set. Her mind played the entire scene over in her head again.

"Listen to me!" her husband yelled, not five minutes before. "I will not allow that creature anywhere near our community!"

"You have a bad habit of holding grudges," the female mouse replied, folding a piece of parchment.

"Holding grudges? You think I'm holding a grudge?" the bearded mouse was now beet red in the face, his temper rising to a dangerous level. "He killed her!"

"He did not kill her!" Her paws were trembling as she fumbled to seal her letter. "Did he throw her against a stone wall and crush her skull? NO!" The frustration and tenseness in the room could fill an ocean.

"I said it once, and I'll say it again," her husband replied in a fierce whisper, "that mouse will not set one paw in this valley."

The female whistled loudly. A small dipper, with a giant smile plastered to his face, came soaring in through the opened window and landed rather clumsily on the desk in front of them. The mouse stared at her husband with an unfaltering gaze, tied the parchment to the dippers feet with a red ribbon and said, "You will not stop me, Urran Voh." She turned to the dipper. "You know who to find. We discussed it earlier today." The dipper turned and flew out the door.

A single tear ran down the cheek of the beautiful mouse as the scene ran through her mind. What was done was done, however. There was no calling back the dipper, and if her husband was too thick-headed and stubborn to see things her way, so be it. She sighed, looked up at the sky, and walked away from her daughter's grave.

Martin reached for the small, folded parchment tied to the claws of the dipper. He stared transfixed at the little bird. Why was his mind playing tricks on him so much? Everything he saw reminded him of something that he just couldn't put his paw on. First the riddle, now this dumb little bird.

"Read the note, Martin" Azalea said eagerly, "obviously it's come to the right place and that letter is meant for someone in this tree, yup yup."

Martin obliged, although he was more puzzled and interested in the smiling dipper than the parchment attached. He untied the ribbon and unfolded the small paper very slowly, careful not to tear it in any way. His eyebrows furrowed as he read the fairly long letter. His expressionless lips creased into a frown as his eyes darted along the page. His paws began to tremble, all the while the soft dark eyes of the warrior growing steadily angrier, redder with hatred.

Meanwhile, Azalea's eyes grew steadily wider with terror. What could that simple note possibly say to make her new friend so angry? She would not find out for quite a period of time, for Martin leaped out of the bed, yelling. He tore the parchment in two, crumpled the pieces in his fists, and stormed out the door.

"Martin!" the chipmunk called after him, beginning to rise from her chair.

A firm paw grasped her arm, stopping her from following Martin. "Leave him be," Donovan said in a calm tone. "He'll be okay; he just has to get it all out of his system. Although I would like to know what was on that piece of parchment that got him all riled up."

The Warriormouse went storming through the undergrowth of the forest, cursing under his breath and hot tears of anger pouring down his face. He didn't remember barging through Azalea's specially carved door, unaware of his own strength. He didn't remember leaping from branch to branch of the tree, unaware of his own fears. He didn't remember Azalea calling his name in anguish, unaware of his own surroundings. His right paw clenched his father's sword, which he did remember to grab before leaving, and in his left was the crumpled up letter. His eyes began to burn from the red mist, his chest heaving in and out as he ran like the wind, not heeding the prickly nettles on the forest floor or the sharp twigs piercing his footpaws. He felt one thing: anger.

How could she even THINK of doing such a thing? Martin thought to himself. He had a hard enough time dealing with her haunting memories, never mind having to face her family. He had let them down, and he did not intend on making things tougher on himself and them.

The mouse kicked a stone that was in his path. He didn't feel the stinging pain that arose in his toe; he was totally oblivious to everything in sight. Why did it have to happen to me? His mind raced with questions of guilt. Damn you stupid little dipper! He still couldn't think of where he had met that bird before. Damn you Aryah! Why would she send him a letter like that? Damn you Polleekin! Why couldn't she have warned him? Damn you Badrang the Tyrant! Why did he have to ruin Martin's life? This wasn't the first time some greedy and bloodthirsty vermin screwed up everything. Damn you Brome! Why did you have to get his hopes up? Damn you Rose! Why did you have to die?

Martin collapsed in a heap onto the leaf-strewn ground, sobbing uncontrollably, the torn letter still in his paws.

It was not long before the mentally and physically exhausted Martin fell asleep on the ground. His paws twitched like a dog's in his slumber, mumbling something indistinguishable under his breath. His dreams quickly turned to nightmares, and all of them started and ended the same way. At first, it was quiet, and Martin felt happy and peaceful. But then, everything would start to go red again, like he was getting the Bloodwrath. Yet, Rose was always standing beside him through the entire dream. She felt so real, and looked so real. Martin would try to reach out and touch her, but that only made her move farther away.

Another dream started up again, this time with Martin sitting in Noonvale. Everything was silent, even the birds weren't singing. The entire valley was completely empty, except for Martin, sitting by the spring. Rose was sitting next to him. She looked so beautiful, so calm. Martin didn't dare try to speak to her or touch her, because that always resulted in her departure. Instead, he contented himself with gazing into her soft, dark eyes lovingly.

A dangerous red mist started to creep within the warrior's vision. He shook his head violently and closed his eyes. He wouldn't let it come back again. He needed to see Rose, and the Bloodwrath just got in the way of everything. His eyes blinked furiously, ridding himself only momentarily of his rising anger.

Rose stood up and started to turn. No! Wait, please don't leave! Martin's voice screamed inside his head. He battled the oncoming trance as firmly as he battled his enemies. He wouldn't let her leave this time…

So what's your purpose for me? With your intentions in the air…

Martin looked around, bewildered. That sounded like his very own voice, yet he hadn't spoken. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him either, for Rose had stopped in her tracks, turned, and stood gazing at Martin. The red was fading.

So what if I wanted to ask you if I could meet you there?

There it was again! Martin was reciting something, yet his mouth had not moved. The voice of the warrior echoed all around the two mice. Rose wasn't leaving, and the red was fading evermore. The warrior willed his mind to speak again.

Go inside I'm coming through, for you.

Rose was walking back towards Martin. Those words, if they were from a song, or a poem, or whatever, they were keeping away Martin's Bloodwrath at bay and keeping Rose near. If only the Warriormouse knew why he was saying this, if he knew the meaning of these words.

We watched each other escape from the commotion that we knew. The way our languages fade in through an empty living room.

Rose crouched beside Martin and cupped her paws. She dipped them into the water.

Go inside, I'm coming through, into a world that you surround. Show me now, I'm here with you. For you.

The beautiful mouse raised her arms, pulling her cupped paws out of the water. Martin could see through the spring into the blurred image of an object of some sort sitting in Rose's paws. It was red.

Go inside, I'm coming through, into a world that you surround. Show me now, I'm here with you. For you.

Martin was jerked awake by a female voice and two strong paws shaking him gently.

Azalea had left her tree home once it started raining. Donovan tried to reassure her and keep her inside, but the determined chipmunk refused. "I'm not letting Martin stay out in the rain all night, no I'm not," she persisted. "He'll catch his death o' cold out there."

"You're not his mother," Donovan called after his friend as she walked out the door into the pouring rain. "You won't listen to a bloody thing I say." The warrior knew Martin just needed some alone time and he would come back when he was ready. That's exactly how Donovan had felt himself after Veer died. He was sure Martin's behavior and bouts of Bloodwrath were connected with the death of a loved one.

The lone chipmunk wandered through the forest, calling Martin's name aloud. It was not long before she came across the mouse-like lump lying on the ground, completely soaked. She crept quietly up to him, and then noticed the torn letter, crumpled in Martin's paws. She removed it gingerly, careful not to wake the sleeping figure. Squinting in the rain, she held the two pieces of parchment together and tried to make out the words.

Dear Martin,

I hope I'm not causing you any trouble or pain by sending you this letter, and hopefully Dipper is bringing this to the right beast. I'm not one to beat around the bush, so we'll get right to the point. I am inviting you to come back to Noonvale. You don't have to stay long, I just would love to see you again, and I'm sure your friends Grumm, Pallum, Brome and Rowanoak would love to see you as well. I do not hold a grudge to you, it was not your fault what happened to Rose happened. It was in no way under your control. My husband might not see things the way I do, but hopefully by the time you get here I will have convinced him. You need not bring anything with you, except for your great sword. I know how warriors are now, and you are allowed to keep it with you at all times. Please come to Noonvale, Martin the Warrior. I'm sure Rose would have wanted you to.

With love,

Aryah

Azalea stood, gazing at the letter in complete shock. She looked at the shivering Martin, and felt like she was going to burst into tears. The noble and courageous warrior, who risks his life for the safety of others, kept hidden in his heart a tale so tragic he couldn't say it aloud. It was then that Azalea knew the answer to the riddle.

"Come on, buddy," the chipmunk shook the sleeping mouse. "We're going home."