Chapter One
Windrose Summersky was running away. She was tired of everybat expecting her to live up to the standards of her mother, Lady Moonrose Summersky, the queen of all Norfolk bats. Muttering aloud to herself, Rose said. "Hump, serves them right, always going, 'Windrose, sit straight, you are the princess, you know better then that!' Hump!"
She knew where she was going. The stories of Redwall had been passed down through generations, ever since the two legendary bats had passed through their mountain. A noise behind Windrose suddenly made her glance behind her. Silently she cursed her rose colored fur. She could hear her mother's bats scouts following her.
Windrose increased her flying speed, gracefully winging her way towards Redwall.
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Extracts from the recordings of Annabella Squirrel, assistant recorder to Lanna Badger, direct descendant of Lonna Bowstripe.
My, my, poor old Lanna. She sleeps much these days. I think the seasons are catching up to her, though she never admits it. This leaves me to do most of the recording, though I try not to complain.
Our Nameday for this spring is only three days away. Friar Hummer Dryspikes is frantically working with his kitchen helpers, constantly moaning that he 'won't finish on time', though I know he will. Abbes Silvera confided in me that our new season would be called the Spring of New Awakenings. I don't know why she chose this name, but she will tell us in her own good time.
Lanna is stirring. Her stomach is probably telling her it's time for tea. That great scoffbag, she can eat more than ten bally well hares, wot wot?
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Lanna was indeed stirring. With a grunt she got up and rumbled to Annabella, "Come along Inky paws, it's almost tea-time. I bet Hummer will be serving strawberry scones with meadowcream and cool mint tea in the orchard."
"Oh shush, you great stripedog," Annabella chided, "You're making me hungry!"
The two friends walked side by side down to the orchid.
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Lord Urthstone collapsed on Salamandastron's forge room floor. His naturally blue eyes slowly lost their fiery red color and he slept.
Urthstone was awakened by the calls of his top traveling hare, Mayflower.
"My Lord, where are you?" she called.
"Urthstone, Lord Urthstone, what happened?" Mayflower cried from the door of the forge room. With much concern, she walked tenderly over to Urthstone and gently poured a drink into his mouth from her canteen.
Urthstone spluttered, the strong elderberry wine had brought him to consciousness. The first thing he saw was a vision of a great animal similar to a badger, but with stripes and a bushy tail. The vision dissolved into a female hare leaning over him. Urthstone heaved himself upright and steadied himself on his forge anvil.
Questioningly, Mayflower said, "M'lord, where in the jolly well mountain have you been? You've been missing for a whole day and night, wot?" Urthstone stared.
"At attention, Mayflower. Anything to report?"
The traveling hare snapped to attention and replied, "No sah, nothing out of the ordinary to report."
"Good," Urthstone answered, "Then gather my platoon officers in the dining hall. Continue sending out daily patrols all round the mountain. I must go now. Do not come looking for me."
With that, Lord Urthstone, Ruler of Salamandastron, swept out of the room and off towards the secret chamber.
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Tragon, Tragon the Traitor. The name struck fear in the hearts of all vermin. He commanded over five thousand ferrets, stoats, wildcats, rats, weasels, fox, wolverines raccoons, ravens, and all other manner of bad beasts.
Tragon the Traitor sat musing in his tent. He was a great lumbering wolverine, deadly as death itself. Tragon had pure black fur with one white stripe up his muzzle and around his huge, cold, grey, eyes. The traitor's silent masked murderers, raccoons, sat guarding his tent.
"Bring me my best scouts!" he spat at the nearest raccoon. The masked murdered hastened to obey. Soon, three of the best raccoons appeared at the entryway to the tent. The black mass of fur moved deeper into the inky darkness. A rumbling voice emerged from the shadows of the tent. "Travel into the three corners of the land that we have not yet searched. Do not go the way we have come." A slight waver in his voice betrayed the fear he held of the harsh, cold, barren and unforgiving north, which had taken its toll on his mother and father, leaving him for dead.
A change in the wind, causing it to shriek through the trees, brought The Traitor back to the present. "Be gone!" he cried, his voice rising to a crescendo with the wind and trees. The three scouts were gone, racing across land and tree. A shiver lanced up and down the backs of all vermin who heard the One's howl.
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