Disclaimer: Toboe LoneWolf does not own Redwall; Brian Jacques does; do you see any name or writing style resemblance? No? I thought so.

Toboe LoneWolf: Heyla. Peace. You know, I have an update section in my bio, for those that want to know my writing "status." Or you could contact me via aim or e-mail.

On this chapter. Uh…yeah. This was…alright, so when I write humor, sometimes the ideas are just…really random…

Mission Two: Swamptail

This obviously called for a change in plans. Martin rubbed his forehead. And he thought living was hard…

Romsca shuffled her footpaws. This was not good. "Er, what'll--"

Martin raised a paw. "Just…wait. Let me think."

Alright. She'd already mastered the basics. This was unusual in and of itself, since it usually took woodlanders two or three times to get the hang of everything, whereas Romsca had simply "improvised" and…gotten it right. So, he couldn't just give Romsca practice missions or leave her to train; he had to give her a Real Mission. Because it was in the Rules.

Unfortunately, there was the big Turning Point coming up. They couldn't have any mess-ups, not now. And quite frankly, the Council wasn't quite ready for a corsair guardian angel. There wasn't anything planned.

Oh shoot, the Council… Martin blanched at that thought.

Stall, Martin! Stall!

Martin felt a headache coming on. Come on, anything! Stretching out a paw he scanned the area.

Yes!

With a sigh of relief Martin grabbed Romsca.

"Alright then, here's the plan. I have to go to a meeting and tell the council that you're fully trained as a rank one guardian angel. Meanwhile, your next mission is to help the dibbun Swamptail."

Romsca looked at him in bewilderment as Martin whirled her around and pushed her in a general direction. "Wot'd yer mean, 'elp the young'un? Wait a tic, I'm a guardian angel now? Wot meeting? I just screwed up yer warrior dibbun, I gotta fix it—"

"One, the Council is made up of badgers. Two, you'll have to fix it after Arven comes out of the sheets. Three, I'm running a bit short of time here, alright?"

Romsca blinked. Badgers? Oooooh, sea'n'fur. She. Was. Dead.

…Wait a sec, she was dead…

…Getting used to this I'm-Dead-But-I'm-An-Angel-Now Thing was going to take some time…

How'd she get into this mess, anyway? Oh right, she was too good for her own good. She should've listened to her father, and then she'd be in Hellgates where she properly belonged, and none of this angel business mess.

Martin tapped her forehead. "Swamptail. Dibbun. Help. Stall. Okay?"

And with that Martin pushed her off, and Romsca floated downward to some beach, where a little stoat was roaming about.

x x x x x

Well, Romsca wasn't quite used to the floating mode of transportation, and came down a bit too fast and—

Thwoosh!

Sand flew everywhere. Romsca sneezed, hacked, and coughed. How'd heck did that happen? She was an angel, and therefore dead, didn't that mean she couldn't touch anything? Or at least, hit into anything. Eyes streaming tears, she barely made out a tiny figure waving a piece of driftwood.

Swamptail didn't have a clue of what was happening (who did?) but when presented with an (apparently) incapacitated beast, his corsair upbringing came forth and demanded submission from the lower life forms. (Never mind that he was about the one-third of the size of his intended-slave-to-be, he was a Mighty Corsair of the Seas, right?)

"Hey you! You be the prisoner of the Great Swamptail!" Swamptail jabbed his stick forward.

Romsca had the delight to see a stick go straight through her gut.

Automatically Romsca's paw whipped out and bonked Swamptail right on the head. Swamptail squealed and fell back, dropping his stick, while Romsca rubbed the last bit of sand out of her eye. Growling, she reached out and grabbed Swamptail's shirt before he could scurry away.

"Alright, lemme git this straight. I ain't a prisoner of anybeast, an' I ain't gonna be. And anyways, makin' a prisoner of anybeast ain't a good idea anysorts." Romsca rolled her eyes. "Oi, what'm I sayin' ?" Romsca gave Swamptail a look. "Hey, why you wanderin' around anyways?"

Swamptail squirmed in Romsca's grip. "I didn't do nuthin'! I didn't mean to, really! I was just playin'—"

Romsca raised a paw. "Tell me th' truth!" She shifted her grip on Swamptail so that she held him by the scruff on his neck. "Tell me now, or I'll whack you again!"

…She never did have much motherly instinct, anyway.

"Me mum kicked me out," Swamptail muttered.

Romsca blinked. Ooookay. Now what?

"An' why is that?"

Another shake made him answer. "I dinna want to eat green stuff."

Romsca blinked again. Green stuff? …Oh. Vegetables. …Right. Now what?

Stalling for time, Romsca simply held Swamptail in the air as he squirmed, wiggled and attempted to bite Romsca's paw, to no avail because 1) Romsca had a pretty good grip; and 2) His teeth went right through her incorporeal body.

Romsca stared at his antics. Okay, so although she could hold him, he couldn't touch her. Pieces of driftwood included.

Raising an eyebrow at another chop-chop of empty teeth, Romsca gave Swamptail another shake.

"Alright then, you listen t' me. Eat that green stuff, 'cause it's way better than eating biscuits on a ship. Trust me on that one, little bugger. Green stuff is better 'cause it helps keep yer teeth from rottin'." Romsca grinned, and Swamptail stared into pearly white fangs (angel glow included). "See, I got nice teeth 'cause I ate me greens."

…What in the name of Hellgates was she saying?

"Second thing. Slaves ain't a good idea. 'Cause see, they fight." Romsca stared into Swamptail's eyes. "Ya see me? I wouldn't make a very good slave, yes?"

Swamptail nodded wildly.

"And it ain't right anyways. Ya got it?" Romsca gave Swamptail another paw-shake. "Any questions?"

"Ah…" Swamptail gulped. "Who be you?"

Romsca pointed at the halo. "An angel, wot else?" She dropped Swamptail. "Yah, you be too little. I ain't good dealin' with young'uns. You just go back home, alright? I'll come back later."

Staring wide-eyed at Romsca, Swamptail stumbled off in the direction of home. Home, where there would be comforting realness and no weird ferrets that came out of the sky and talked about weird things like eating vegetables.

…But just in case, he would eat 'em.

Romsca rubbed her head. Oi. Little buggers was just not her thing. She looked up into the sky.

"Alright, now what?"

x x x x x

In the course of time, a thread was changed.

Swamptail the Shiny he was called, and feared across the waters.

Ruthless in his search for the best and freshest greens on his ships, he struck fear into any crewbeast of his that dared not eat their vegetables. Doubly frightened were they, for Swamptail the Shiny took no slaves aboard his ship, choosing instead to promote the Brotherhood Of Eating Greens Among Corsairs.

…Not that crewbeasts had much choice, if they didn't want to meet with Swamptail's shiny fangs.

—And up above, a bunch of badgers were seriously discomfited.—