--Hello and thanks for the reviews! I am going to start lengthening my chapters a bit. Also, Redwall was not around in Bluestripe's days, so I am going to use Loamhedge in it's place. –
Never, never would any hare in the mountain of Salamandastron have thought of an enemy this powerful. Fhaz the Slayer was by far the darkest of all vermin. He was a ferret of medium size, and had a blood red cloak and shouldered a dyed red scimitar. However, what stood out the most on him had to be his eyes, which grew bright red in his search for blood. He, along with a band of only two-score had almost taken control of the most desired place along the shores of Mossflower Wood, Salamandastron. Victory was as pleasant as the half eaten thrush he had breakfasted on earlier.
"Scarpaw, report."
A weasel of tall lanky stature entered. He stated "My Lord, the mountain is almost ours."
Fhaz turned around and faced Scarface.
"Why do we not have full control?"
Scarpaw gulped nervously. "It's the badger, Sir. He and six hares escaped. We had six of ours follow, but they came back empty. Scarpaw waited for the blow he deserved, but oddly, Fhaz laughed.
"That bumbling creature! We'll have his head after the mountain is captured. Worry about that later, Scar. Head back to your position."
Scarpaw exited, sighing with relief after he was out of earshot.
Fhaz turned his attention back to the large window he had been gazing out of. Breaking the glass with his bow, he spotted a badly injured hare limping away from the scores of hare bodies laying below. Shouldering his bow, he took aim and let fly. He was greeted with a screech, and the hare collapsed with a cruel thud. Truly he was the darkest of all vermin!
A full day had passed since the takeover of Salamandstron. Fhaz stood regally in the chamber of Bluestripe, staring deeply at the weaponry around him. Surely the badger would have given it his all and slaughtered some of his band? Why had he just up and gone?
"Skinface!", he shouted.
A stoat appeared, carrying with him a small dagger.
"Yes, m'Lord?"
Fhaz took a look around the room, and said, "I want you and half a score others to find the badger and the hares, and bring them here. I don't care if they are dead or alive. Bring them to me, and I will promote you to High Captain of my mountain.
Skinface brandished a wicked looking spear and assembled the others in good time.
"Now go, make my ruling complete."
Loamhedge was quite a site in spring. Aside from the awful desert and wastelands that surrounded this virtual oasis, it stood grand. After a while of planning, Bluestripe and the remaining hares made the choice to embark on a journey there, to gather troops, to give warning, and to take refuge for a while. However, it would be no easy task getting there.
"Report, Whitepaw."
Whitepaw came from where they had been camped, along the Great South Stream.
"M'Lord, the way to Loamhedge must be by ship. Now I'm n'seabeast, but I can tell ya' that we'll 'ave to head south. I believe we can take a course to take us around the coast to Loam'edge."
Another hare was listening in.
"M'Lord Bluestripe, if'n you'll excuse ma' sayin', where we get a ship that seaworthy in such short notice?"
However, Bluestripe was not listening. He was watching a small but seaworthy craft heading up the inlet where they were camped. On it was Skinface and ten others.
"Looks like we've got our ride," he scowled.
--Well, that's it for now. Please leave me a review! See ya' at Chapter 2!—