~Winter~
Winter on the coast of the Western Sea was quite a bit colder than Sunflash had expected; he was pretty sure that it was actually colder than the winters back in Mossflower Woods had been, once he sat down and thought about it. Not that it mattered all that much, considering he was a badger and thus had a good bit of fur on him, especially now that – for the first time in six years or so – his body was getting the proper amount of food.
At least, the cold didn't matter all that much physically. Psychologically, well, that was a different matter entirely.
The first snow of the season had been rather underwhelming, all things considered, nothing more than a few flurries and a thin coating of white on the sand and the mountain that had all melted within a day of it falling. And yet that little bit was still enough to nearly break me, Sunflash mused as he watched snowflakes dance and whirl outside his window for the tenth time since that horrid day. What kind of badger lord will I be if I can't even look at a bunch of snow without freezing up? Sunflash, Lord of Salamandastron, the Snow-Fearing. It was so pathetic that he almost had to laugh about it. HE would. Swartt'd laugh himself breathless and then go out of his way to make me stand in the snow as much as possible, damn him. Not for the first time, or the hundredth for that matter, Sunflash wished that he could pluck his former master out of thin air and hurl him from the top of the mountain. It's all his fault I'm scared of the snow, anyways. That first winter, back when he –
"Lord Sunflash?"
A voice from the doorway yanked Sunflash out of his reverie, sending a brief jolt of panic through him as he whirled around and dropped his good paw to where his mace normally hung. "Stay back, or I'll –" Before he could finish his sentence it finally registered in his brain that it was only Lupin, Captain of the Long Patrol. "Oh, uh, sorry about that, Captain." Sheepishly he drew his paw back, trying not to blush. "I was daydreaming. Is something the matter?"
Lupin, to Sunflash's undying gratitude, decided to act as though nothing unusual had happened, and instead through up the usual salute before making her report. "No, sir. At least, not yet, though can't say whether the situation might not change soon."
"Oh?" Sunflash raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Rather than answer, Lupin held open the door and gestured for him to follow. "Some petitioners here to see the Lord of Salamandastron. It's better you hear what they have to say from the source, instead of from me."
Sunflash came down to Boar's audience chamber – my audience chamber, Sunflash reminded himself – and tried to look as regal as possible as he gazed down at the mixed crowd of otters and searats that had begged an audience.
Their leader, a one-eyed rat with a scar across the top of his face, stepped forwards. "My Lord? Lord Boar? Are you him?"
They want my grandfather. Oh, if only he were here… But he wasn't, so it fell to Sunflash to deal with whatever was troubling them. "Boar the Fighter is gone, slain this past Summer. My name is Sunflash the Mace, and I am the Badger Lord now."
The creatures down below all looked at each other, muttering uncertainly. "We're, uh, sorry for your loss, my lord." The rat wrung his paws nervously. "I hope we didn't offend you."
Sunflash made himself smile. "Worry not. I'm sure news travels slow on the seas. Now, what brings you to the mountain today?"
It turned out that the group was all that remained of a fleet of merchants, one that apparently plied the Western Seas and stopped by Salamandastron every so often to restock and rest. It was the first Sunflash'd heard of them, but Lupin seemed to recognize the rat, so he assumed that they were telling the truth.
"Anyways, we were a day out of Ruddaring when we were hit by a storm. It blew us southwest, all the way to Terramort, and although we tried to slip away we weren't fast enough. This stoat fell upon us with a big ship and – and he…" The rat trailed off, unable to speak.
"He butchered us, m'lord." An otter took up the story. "We were ten ships before he found us, and of those ten the one we came in's the only one that made it away. Everybeast too old to row the boat was thrown overboard, all the men he chained up and took the whip to, and the maidens –"
Sunflash held up his paw, fighting the bile that had been steadily rising in his throat. "You don't need to say it. I've seen what vermin do to those they capture." Swartt made me watch plenty, so I'm well aware.
Rage and disgust intermingled, and although Sunflash kept his face impassive the steady drumbeat of his fingers on the stone of his seat broadcast his emotions for all to see. "Did you happen to see what the ship looked like?"
"It was big, m'lord." It was the otter who answered. "Three decks I'd wager. And she was painted blueish-green, like the ocean. It's how they were able to sneak up on us."
Sunflash nodded. "Three decks. Painted like the ocean. Anything else to go on?"
"There was a big scarab on the front sail," the one-eyed rat added, "painted all black when they unfurled it."
"I see." Sunflash stood up. "My good creatures, thank you for your time. Lupin, see to it that the cooks prepare a warm dinner for everybeast, and have Sergeant Bragg set up some quarters for them." He walked down to the rat and placed his paw on the other creature's shoulder, the way he'd seen his mother do a few times. "You have my word that the scum that attacked you will be brought to justice."
The rat stammered out a thank you and turned, leading his group out of the hall. After they left Lupin walked over and smiled.
"You did well, Sunflash. You aim to go after the blighters as soon as possible, I'm guessing? Haul 'em all back here for the ol' trial and a rope routine?"
Sunflash, thinking of his own experiences with slavers and rapers like these vermin, shook his head. A savage grin on his face, he looked at Lupin and chuckled. "Nope. For bastards like this, there's only one thing to do."
He clenched his paw, imagining it closing around Swartt's neck.
"Kill every last one of them. We depart in four days."
Bella had been out speaking with the residents of the little fishing village that had sprung up a few miles south of the mountain, and judging by the look on her face Sunflash guessed that his mother had found out about his intentions upon returning to the mountain.
Bella's first words confirmed it. "So. The hares are all talking about how you want to hunt down and kill a bunch of pirates."
"Slavers, mother. Did you speak with the traders about what they suffered?"
"I did."
"So you understand that they deserve justice."
Bella nodded. "Justice? Certainly." She crossed her arms. "Just like how the Long Patrol deserves a better end than running off and dying in some remote corner of the sea. Four days, Sunflash? Are you mad? The Long Patrol can't possible get fully prepared in under thrice that."
"But if we wait that long, who knows how many innocent creatures those monsters will wipe out?" Sunflash curled his injured paw subconsciously, rubbing his fingers over the spot where his thumb used to be. "How many orphans will be made by our delay? How many innocents taken as slaves? How many maidens raped?"
"Fewer than will be made by you rushing out and destroying the entire army. Obviously I can't exactly order you to remain here, but as your mother and as your advisor, listen to me: you need to wait."
"Waiting? Don't talk to me about waiting, mother. I've done enough of that at the paws of pirates and their kind. Well, I'm tired of it. Never again."
Bella understood then. "You do remember that we're talking about the corsairs, right? Not Swartt? I understand that you want to keep what happened to you from happening to other creatures, but you won't accomplish that by charging out the moment and trying to kill every single thing that reminds you of him."
Sunflash had no answer, so instead he crossed over to the window and looked out into the wintery morning. The snow was falling thicker and faster now, and he noticed that he couldn't even see the bottom of the mountain or the ocean.
"Did I ever tell you about my first winter as Swartt's slave, Mother?"
"No." Did something happen then, she wondered, that's driving this?
"I can't say how things were down here or in Mossflower, but up in the Northlands the winter of six years ago was cold. Talk in the camp was that it was the coldest in fifteen years, or something, and although I don't know I can certainly believe it.
"Swartt had taken other slaves besides me, a mole and a shrew, but by the third week of winter they were both dead." Images flashed through Sunflash's mind: the shrew, skinny as a stick, shivering in the frigid night, the shivers slowly growing weaker and weaker until the shrew died. The mole, losing a paw to frostbite and being gutted by Swartt for being useless. "I only lived because of the thickness of my fur, but that only kept out the cold. It did nothing about the hunger." Sunflash felt tears start to drip down his face as his voice grew tighter with grief. "Some days I'd go the entire period from sunup to sundown without seeing so much as a morsel. One week I went two days. And through it all, there was Swartt. He just grew angrier and angrier, and as the winter went on the beatings got worse by the day."
Sunflash turned back to his mother. "I will not let anybeast face that sort of winter. Not while I and everybeast else in the mountain have the strength to fight."
"Sunflash," Bella chose her words carefully, "you have every right to feel the way you do, and I won't argue that the world will be better off once those pirates are taken or slain. But 'wait' does not mean 'let them go', only that you'll be waiting until the best possible chance to free those suffering."
"Mother, as someone who's been in that hell, let me tell you that for a slave every extra second spent in chains is –"
"Almost an extra lifetime, I imagine."
"Exactly. So do you understand why I need to move as soon as we can?"
"Why you need to, no. Why you want to, yes. Sunflash, like I said, I can't make you wait, but just answer this question: what happened the last time you acted too hastily over a slaver?"
Sunflash rubbed his missing thumb once more. As he did so Bella turned to leave, giving him one last bit of advice as she left.
"If you run out now, it won't be just your thumb."
Sunflash turned back to the window. By the fur, I wouldn't be able to see my own paws if I was out there. It would make navigation treacherous, and if the storm didn't let up by the time they set sail…
If they went out without wearing the proper clothing for the frigid weather…
If they lacked enough firewood…
Damn it, Sunflash realized, mother's right. To go out now, with no preparation, would be suicide.
They would wait, he decided.
I really hate winter.
~Spring~
The carnations were in full bloom, and Mask was just beginning to stroll up and down the River Moss in order to make a bundle to surprise Bluefen with when one of the other otters in Camp Willow sprinted up to him and spoke exactly three words – a tiny number, really, but enough to make their recipient drop everything and head for home:
"The babe's coming."
As Mask barreled back to Camp Willow at speeds that would make the fastest hare blush, a mixture of joy, terror, curiosity, and paranoia flooded his head and refused to leave.
By the fur, the babe's coming, the babe's FINALLY coming! I'll be a father!
Will she even survive? The ottermaids are great at delivering babes, no doubt about that, but Bluefen's not very…if she dies, I'll…
Wonder if the babe'll find it strange, having an otter for a father and a ferret for a mother?
Of course, assuming it even survives. What if something goes wrong?
Mask was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't realize he was back at Camp Willow until he slammed into another otter hard enough to send his entire basket of fish a good eight feet into the air.
"OI! Watch where you're going, mate!"
"Sorry, I wasn't looking." Mask paused long enough to help the poor otter up. "Too nervous. Need to get to my wife."
"You…you do remember that only the women and healers are allowed in the room, right? Not the fathers?"
"Oh." He'd forgotten that bit.
"And besides, do you really want to go in like that?" The otter gestured at Mask's legs. "I mean, you've got enough mud on you to sink a rowboat. Not sure that's the best thing to track into a birthing room."
Mask blushed. "You're, uh, probably right." Still, he couldn't stand the thought of just waiting around, so after giving one last apology he sprinted off towards home.
Sure enough the entrance was barred to outsiders, although that didn't stop Skipper from nervously hovering outside.
"Is she alright?" Mask asked his brother after they embraced. "Nothing's happened, has it?"
Skipper shook his head. "She's fine, mate. Spring and Elodea are seeing to her, and they told me they have plenty of faith that Bluefen'll make it through in one piece."
Almost at that exact moment, a pained scream floated out from inside. Mask paled and started for the door.
Skipper grabbed his brother's paw, holding him back. "It's okay, Riverwyte, that's normal. She's giving birth, remember? It's supposed to be painful." He tried to give a reassuring smile. "There's a reason why they used to say that birth was a special type of battle, after all."
He patted Mask's shoulder. "She'll make it through this. I promise."
Even so, Mask still worried, a fear that refused to abate as the hours dragged on and on.
This is worse than waiting for a battle, Mask decided as the light began to dim around them, yet still he waited, until finally… after what had to have been at least a month…
The silence of the otter holt broke as the cave began to ring with the sounds of a squalling babe. The door opened, and out stepped Elodea. It was impossible to read her face in the late-night darkness, and so Mask immediately assumed the worst.
"Bluefen, is she…did she…"
"Well, it was long and hard, I won't lie about that, but Bluefen made it through safely." Her face broke out into a gentle smile. "Quite the fighter, your wife."
Mask started through the door, but before he could make his way in Elodea placed a paw on his chest, telling him to wait.
"Not yet. Your wife's still resting, and there's plenty of cleaning to do. Birthing's a rather bloody business, you know."
"I'm a spy. I can handle a little blood, damn it." Mask struggled against the other otter's paw. "Now let. me. see. my. family."
"But it's not –"
"Oh, just let him in," Skipper interjected, "before he kills somebeast."
Acquiescing, Elodea sighed before standing aside and letting Mask into the room. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he stepped forwards.
The first thing that struck him was just how loud the babe was, loud enough that Mask was briefly tempted to rip off the bottom of his trousers in order to make a set of earplugs. Well, better crying than not, I suppose.
The second thing was the fact that, as Elodea had warned, birthing was a fair bit messier in real life than in the stories, and the intermingled stench of blood, sweat, and – blessedly faint – waste was an equal surprise. Both mother and son were positively drenched in all manner of fluids, the origins of which Mask had absolutely no desire to ask about.
All the same, in that moment to him they were the most beautiful creatures in the world.
As Mask walked across the room the cries began to quiet and finally stop as the babe fell asleep, and Bluefen gently cradled him in her arms. Only once she was satisfied that the babe was asleep did she look up, noticing her visitor. She smiled, too exhausted to speak.
Mask was similarly quiet, though in his case it was more due to the fact that his brain had abruptly stopped working.
"That's him?" He finally managed to say, rather lamely.
Even sheer exhaustion was unable to stop Bluefen from snorting in amusement. "I…I should hope so. Unless there's another ferret that just gave birth in here." She noticed that Mask was still standing there, unwilling or unable to approach, and so beckoned to him.
"Is it safe for me to? I mean, that nursemaid didn't even want me in the room."
"As long as you're careful. And besides, don't you want to meet your son."
My son. Right. It was a weird phrase to hear, particularly considering that the babe wasn't even actually his blood or even his species, but all the same Mask crept forwards until he was standing over the bed. Gently, slowly, he brushed the babe's fur, taking in the little shape nestled in Bluefen's arms, filled with pride until –
"Mask." Bluefen sucked in her breath. "His paw, it's…"
The little ferret had six claws on his left paw. Just like his father. His actual, blood father.
"I know." Much as Mask would have liked to just shrug it off, the sight of that sixth claw, that visceral reminder that his son was the blood of one of the cruelest bandits in recent memory, set his stomach churning. Does that mean he's destined to follow in his father's pawsteps?
"What's wrong with his paw?" Skipper had slipped in unnoticed along with Elodea, and without waiting for an answer the otter peered curiously over his brother's shoulder. "It looks fine to – oh."
"It's the same as Swartt's. Same number, same paw." Mask was unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
Bluefen was similarly worried. "Swartt's father had a paw like that, too, and to hear my father tell it he was almost as vile as his son." Her voice trembling, Bluefen gave voice to the fear that they were all at least considering. "What if-what if he turns out like his father?"
"If I may, my lady," Elodea ventured, "that certainly is a possibility, and we may have to watch him as carefully as he grows, but… that does not mean that as went the father so will the son." She looked at Mask and tried to give him a reassuring look. "Particularly if he has another father he looks to."
Mask wasn't convinced. "Still, the paw is…"
"Brother, don't worry about it." Skipper patted his brother on the shoulder. "That may mean everything, sure, but it might also mean nothing. I mean, think about Gingivere and Tsarmina. They've got the same eyes, and when you get right down to it bright green eyes are about as odd as six-clawed paws. And they're pretty much night and day, aren't they? Just keep steering the kid straight, and I'm sure he'll be fine. I mean it."
Mask looked down at Bluefen, who nodded. "It makes sense. Maybe we are just worrying about nothing."
"Whatever the case may be, that's all far downstream from us." Skipper gave his new nephew a fond look. "No sense in worrying about that now."
"I suppose not." Mask felt the tension leave his shoulders. A father. I'm really a father now. The joy had set back in, and Mask found himself grinning and crying at the same time as he bent down and gave both the ferrets quick kisses.
Elodea cleared her throat. "Now, I imagine that you two probably want a bit of privacy, although I'm curious: had you already considered a name, by chance?"
"Not yet." Bluefen answered. "This whole thing's just been so uncertain – if the babe would be a boy or a girl, if one of us would…would pass, that we never really talked about it." She looked down at her son, and then up at her husband, the otter that she dearly hoped the babe would come to see as his true father.
As she did so, inspiration struck her. "Say, Mask, what do you think of naming him 'Veil'?"
"Er, that's certainly a unique name." The otter thought it over. Actually, it's not bad, really, and I think I get what she's trying to say. He looked back down at the babe. And come to think of it, it actually kind of suits him. "You know what? Veil it is."
"Why 'Veil'?" Skipper asked. "You didn't just, I don't know, take the word 'evil' and rearrange them, did you? To say he's different from Swartt or something?"
Bluefen shook her head. "No, definitely not that."
"Then what?"
Bluefen waved her paw at her husband, then at her son. "Mask, Veil."
"It's a way of letting everybeast know that this babe is my son just as much as Swartt's, if not moreso. At least, I think that's what you meant?" Mask looked back at Bluefen, who nodded.
"I understand." Elodea smiled. "I think that's beautiful. And I'm assuming that you're both committed to that name?"
"Completely." After she spoke the word, Bluefen fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling.
"You really are tired, aren't you?" Mask asked.
Bluefen nodded without opening her eyes.
"Want us all to leave you be?"
Another nod. "I'm sorry, Mask."
"I understand. Just rest now."
Skipper and Elodea left first. Mask lingered just a moment to kiss his wife and son one more time, and then followed them out the door.
No sooner did he do so than Skipper slapped him on the back. "Congratulations! Sorry it took me so long to say it, but congratulations all the same. Never really saw you as a father, won't lie, but you'll do wonderfully."
"Thanks, Warthorn." I just hope I CAN actually do this.
"Calling me by my first name? Strike my rudder, this is a special day!" Skipepr grinned. "Can I interest you in a pint or two of ale to celebrate? The last caravan from Southsward left us an entire barrel."
Ordinarily a barrel of ale would've greatly appealed to Mask, but tonight, after everything, all he wanted was a few moments alone to think, and he said so.
"Maybe later, then?"
"Maybe. Depending on how I feel."
Mask took leave of his brother and started walking, neither noticing nor caring where exactly his paws took him, until he found himself standing at a little bend in the River Moss where the water had pooled over into a little rocky section. Absentmindedly he touched the water; it was still cold from the early spring snowmelt, and after the heat of Camp Willow it felt good running through his fur.
I wonder – would this be a good place to teach Veil how to swim some day?
~Summer~
That this summer had been cooler than the last was something everybeast in Mossflower was extremely grateful for – with as much of the country burnt to the ground by Tsarmina, nobeast was sure that another brutally-hot summer would be endurable. Or even survivable.
But, thankfully, there had been plenty of rain towards the end of spring and so far the temperatures had been mildly hot at the absolute worst, giving Mossflower a much-needed respite. More and more creatures felt relaxed enough to do little more than laze around in the sun, sleeping or singing or playing as though not a thing was wrong in the world.
Martin was most emphatically not one of these creatures, rising at dawn almost every day and immediately making for Kotir's training yard with his sword. There he'd immediately set to work on some practice dummies long enough for the rest of the castle to wake up, after which he'd transition to whichever willing opponent wandered into his view.
This morning it was a mole by the name of Dinny, a friend of Gonff's who had enlisted in the Thousand-Eye army on the first day of Summer. Although small the mole was quick, and Martin had no doubt that before the season was out Dinny would be well on his way to becoming quite the swordsbeast.
Still, that was over a month from now, and in the meantime, Martin was sure he'd be winning most of their contests. Sure enough, soon Dinny fell to the ground, victim of a blow to the shoulder.
"You shouldn't let me lead you so much – the less you're in control, the less likely you are to win." As Martin spoke he whirled his right arm, trying to drive the stiffness away. Blasted arm still doesn't feel completely right.
"Burr aye, you'im be making that right clear, m'lord." Grunting with effort, Dinny stood up for a moment before wincing and dropping back down to the ground. "Yowch-that last'un nearly took moi arm right off."
"It's only a sparring sword, mate, it hasn't got near enough an edge for that." Martin chuckled. "And enough with the m'lords. Any friend of Gonff's a friend of mine, so just call me Martin unless we're around my father."
"I'm thinkin that baint be roight, though, m'lord."
"Martin. Nobeast is going to rip your tongue out for saying it. I'm not my sister, and the rest of the army's not her cronies." Nearly a full year after we drove them all out, and everybeast STILL acts half as though Tsarmina and Cludd and their like are still around to enact their cruelties. He and Gingivere were doing their best to right the wrongs their sister had made, and Amber had managed to purge out anybeast that was of her or Cludd's way of thinking from the army, but it was still painfully clear that there was plenty of work to do.
So to try and help clear the air, Martin sat down next to his sparring partner. "Dinny, I promise you that nothing we say in this yard will leave it. You can even swear at me when we're fighting if you want." Gesturing towards the spot where he'd thwacked the mole's arm, he grinned. "And come on, I know you probably wanted to after that last one."
Dinny laughed. "Fair enough, matey. Oi'm promisin' ee, though – one day Oi'm be paying y' back for that m'lo – Martin. Almost had you that one toime, though, iffin' only oi was a wee bit stronger."
"What, when you tried to overpower me?" Martin stood up and offered his paw, and Dinny took it. "You weren't even close. And, honestly, that sort of approach's a fool's errand Best not bother."
"Mm? Whoi not?"
"Because you're small, like I am. Only moreso." The advice Bane had given him all those years ago came rushing back, and with them a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach; a lingering sense of nostalgia and loss that Martin had become very familiar with over the past year.
He kept speaking. "Can we make up the difference enough to match a rat or a weaker ferret blow-for-blow? Aye. But a fox? A big stoat? All the training in the world can't overcome the simple fact that even the weakest of them is bigger than the strongest mole or mouse. Trying to match them strength to strength is a fools' errand."
Quick as a flash and before either of them could blink, Martin swung his sword up and out until it was level with Dinny's neck. "Now going for speed, that's where we have the advantage." Another heartbeat, another moment, and Martin's sword was pointed back at the ground and the mouse had leapt back five paces. "Outmaneuver and outflank, that's how smaller creatures like us win. Is it harder to master than simply hacking and hammering away? Yes. But is it better? Also yes. Does this make sense?"
"Burr aye." Dinny grabbed his own sword and returned to ready position. "You'm be wanten another round, matey?"
"Certainly, if you're willing."
They clashed again. Martin won, although he couldn't help but note that Dinny had gotten just the tiniest bit closer to actually hitting him.
Around lunchtime Dinny was called off for more training, and as his departure left Martin without anybeast to spar with he decided to take a break as well. Perhaps it'd be a good idea for me to get something to eat. Breakfast was a while ago, after all.
The path up to the kitchens took him up the stairway towards the apartments that he and the rest of the Greeneyes family occupied, and on the way up Martin happened across his brother. Gingivere took one sniff of the overpowering stench of sweat emanating from the mouse and promptly retreated a few steps back up the staircase.
"Please tell me you're going to get somebeast to draw up a bath for you?"
Martin shrugged. "Later, maybe. Right now I'm on my way for a bite to eat."
"You'll make everybeast in the entire kitchen keel over, you know."
"I honestly doubt that." Martin stepped towards his brother in order to pass him, but as he did so he smelled a light, earthy scent drifting off Gingivere.
Like, say, the sort of scent that would come from a lowborn maiden getting the occasional gift from an admiring lordling.
Ah. I see.
Martin felt an evil grin split his face. "I see the problem, Gingivere – it's less about what I may happen to smell like and more about what it contrasts to, I'd wager. How is Sandingomm, by the way? Haven't seen her around lately."
Gingivere immediately blushed. "Oh, uh, she's…she's fine. I was just – just teaching her how to read, and she's been making some real progress lately so I thought she might like the reward."
"And did she?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, she said –" Gingivere caught himself rambling and glared at his brother. "Just shut up and go get your lunch."
Martin suppressed a snort and jogged up the stairs. Truth be told he was actually glad to know that Sandingomm was doing well; once he'd gotten past the strangeness of being around a female wildcat that didn't want to kill him Martin had found he rather liked her, particularly how she never failed to make Gingivere smile. Something he's been doing less and less, this past year. Not since it became apparent that father's hip is never really going to heal all the way.
For the second time that day a dull ache seized Martin's heart, this time as he remembered how in the depths of this past winter his father had been stuck in his bed for a solid week, overcome with pain. Sure, the warm weather helped some, but all the same it was the rare day that the old wildcat was able to walk around unsupported for any significant length of time.
Upon arriving outside of the larder Martin realized that his appetite was gone. Unsure of what to do, Martin glanced back at the staircase and looked upwards towards the landing that marked the lord's bedchamber. Maybe I should go visit father, see how he's doing, if he needs anything…
Before he could decide, the door opened. Detta, the head cook, stepped out carrying a large bag of flour and nearly crashed into Martin before stopping short.
"Oh! My lord! Sorry – didn't see you over this load."
"It's fine. I was the one standing next to the door like an idiot." Martin looked at the bag, curious. "What's all that for?"
The old stoat gently set the bag down on the floor before continuing to speak. "Just bringing things down to the kitchen for later. Never know when something might spring up on us, after all." Now it was her turn to be curious. "And what about you? Why were you loitering outside the kitchen?"
"Well, I was¸hungry earlier, but…" Martin trailed off, not sure whether he wanted to tell Detta his worries about his father.
"If you're hungry, fell free to let yourself in. It's your family's castle, after all." Before Martin could reply Detta snapped her fingers. "Ah, that reminds me – could you take some things up for your lord father after you finish? I don't think anybeast ever brought him what he asked for."
"Will do." If I can actually face him.
Martin wound up stealing a loaf of bread for his lunch, and unable to stomach more he grabbed the meal his father had ordered and continued to ascend up the stairs.
Upon reaching his father's antechamber, Martin froze in place.
Can I do it? Can I actually go in? What if he's worse?
He took a deep breath and shook his head. No. Don't act like that. If father's worse the castle wouldn't be carrying on as normal. It wouldn't. It couldn't.
Could it?
There was only one way to find out, so Martin reached out with a nervous paw and gently rapped on the door.
"Enter." Martin noticed that his father's voice was less strained than it had been the past few days, and took enough heart from that to walk in.
"It's me, father. I, uh, brought your lunch."
"About bloody time they remembered I'm still alive." Although his face was wan and tight with discomfort, Verdauga smiled out at his son. "Thank you, Martin."
The old wildcat busied himself with his food while Martin forced himself to look his father over. Is this a good day, or a bad one?
It was too hard to tell, so Martin decided to take the direct route. "How's your hip today, father?"
Verdauga looked up from his trout filet long enough to gently rest a paw on his leg. "One day is very much like the rest, I'm afraid. It's aching something fierce, make no mistake on that; I'd wager there's rain on the way." He sighed. "Still, thankfully at the moment the hip's the only thing that's bothering me, and I suppose I should be thankful for that. But what about you?" Verdauga's gaze turned to his son. "How's your arm?"
"Fine. It's still a little stiff, but it's certainly healing better than you are. I don't get it, though – why is that? It broke just as much as your hip did, so why is it coming along so much smoother?"
"I'm getting old, while you're still young. It may be that my body's just not able to mend itself like it used to."
The words 'you're not that old' came to Martin's lips, but they were unable to pass; try as he might, even Martin could see how much greyer Verdauga's fur was, how the years seemed to have drained him.
So instead of saying anything, Martin excused himself and all but fled the room.
Although he didn't notice on the way down, on the horizon black clouds were slowly beginning to drift across Mossflower.
~Autumn~
Skarlath had found that living in Salamandastron brought a myriad of benefits and drawbacks, and the changing of the seasons had brought new things he liked about the mountain and new things he disliked. In the former category was the view: although Salamandastron itself sat in the middle of a massive beach it commanded an unmatched view of the surrounding forests, and thus the coming of autumn meant that Skarlath was treated to a vibrant palette of reds, oranges, and yellows intermingling through the trees every time he took wing.
In the latter category was the wind. Skarlath had never seen the ocean before moving to Salamandastron with Sunflash, Bella, and the Long Patrol, and so it had been news to the kestrel just how fucking frigid the autumn winds sweeping off the waves actually were. It was enough to make a creature long for the nice, relatively warm caves and forests inland. Several times. Per day. Indeed, to hear Sunflash tell it, Skarlath had spent a full half a year doing nothing but complaining about the weather, to the point that same of the hares in the Long Patrol had made a drinking game in which every time they heard a complaint they would take a sip of rum.
So, Skarlath decided, this year they wouldn't get a single complaint out of him.
Today was putting that to the test, though; the north wind had come in and immediately joined up with the ocean winds, and the result was a mix so cold that Skarlath half expected to see icicles forming on the edges of his feathers by the time he finished his morning patrol.
As always, Sunflash was there to meet him when he winged back down to the mountain peak, and the badger greeted his friend with the usual wave.
"Morning! How's the flying?"
"Fair enough, I suppose, once you get used to the wind. It's a bit col – complicated when you're being blown in two directions at once." You're not getting a temperature complaint from me, mate.
"I imagine it is." Sunflash seemed to have not noticed the near slipup. "But enough about the wind itself – what news does it bring? Anything new to report? Some horde marching down from the mountains, perhaps? A corsair slipping in from the west?" It was meant as a joke, yet unless Skarlath was mistaken he could see a dim hunger in the back of Sunflash's eyes.
Thankfully, though, that hunger would have to remain in the background for now. "The only thing marching in is the changing of the seasons. There's a girdle of snow on Mountpit and the other peaks, and it's only a matter of time until it works its way down to the coast."
Skarlath studied his friend, curious as to what Sunflash's reaction might be. As he'd expected Sunflash tensed up slightly, almost imperceptibly, his mouth forming a tight line. "I see…well, I suppose I'll have to speak with Lupin and my mother out getting the supplies in order." Sunflash gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I may have to ask you to go to Mossflower soon depending on what I learn. Their supplies might be necessary."
"I understand. I'll be fine if that happens, don't worry." At least you're not sending me out on the bloody winter solstice again.
"Thank you, my friend. Did you see anything else? And what of the other birds? Any news from farther north?"
Skarlath shook his head. "Just the same old tales about a robber here, a bandit there, and not a sign of Swartt. Or Tsarmina Greeneyes, for that matter. There was one bit of news about a stoat in the far north setting up some sort of fortress, but it was too vague for my tastes."
"Was it that bastard Clogg from last winter?"
"I thought you and the Long Patrol killed him?"
"No, it was some wannabe-tyrant with a metal paw. And besides, didn't you and the Long Patrol kill Clogg last winter?"
"If only. The villain managed to sneak away with a single longship. Someday I mean to hunt him down, if I can find him." Sunflash shook his head. "But that's a plan for the future. In the meantime, go down to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. I imagine that after flying in winds as complicated as these you're in need of a good sit by the fire."
Ah. So he DID notice. Damn. "I think I will, if it's all the same to you."
Skarlath hopped off the top of the mountain and flitted down to the windows overlooking the great hall, taking a moment to watch all the hares hustling and bustling. They all look so…relaxed. But then, why shouldn't they? It's been what, nine whole months since they were last at war? I suppose everybeast can enjoy a bit of peace every now and again.
Everybeast, that was, except for Sunflash. That hunger in the back of his eyes, that longing for bloodshed, was something that Skarlath had seen time and time again since they'd first arrived back at Salamandastron well over a year ago. Although most days it was just an echo, barely there and so divorced from the way that Sunflash acted that Skarlath was able to tell himself he was just imagining things, every so often a casual remark or choice of words reminded him.
Kill every last one of them…
Skarlath had been sheltering in Mossflower at the time after a particularly brutal flight through a blizzard and so hadn't been privy to the exchange, but Bella had told him all about it when he returned.
At first, Skarlath had vehemently denied that it was possible. 'He wouldn't! There's no way Sunflash would be that bloodthirsty.'
'I heard it with my own ears, Skarlath. Sunflash wanted blood.'
At the time it had seemed impossible, but over the past year Skarlath had learned better.
And it terrified him, if he was being honest with himself. It was terrifying to think that his friend, who was normally so kind and caring, had such a desire in him. To think that maybe, just maybe, there was actually a danger of Sunflash snapping set his heart racing.
He'd heard the stories of the destruction that Boar the Fighter had wrought before Bella had been able to put him down, after all. The thought that he could see those stories come to life…
No. They won't. I won't let them. Skarlath turned back to the outside and forced himself to take a deep breath of the chilly autumn air, and then another, and another, until he'd calmed himself down. So long as I'm by Sunflash's side, I'll do everything I can to keep him on the right path. It's my duty as his retainer, as his friend.
Another breath, and he was back to normal. No sense jumping off a cliff until something actually happens.
The air currently turning his insides into a polar icecap reminded Skarlath of Sunflash's idea, and he had to admit that at the moment sitting in front of the fire sound just swell. So, peace of mind restored, he winged down into the great hall and helped himself to a nice bit of meat.
He was about three-quarters of the way through his plate when he heard somebeast call his name. Looking up, he noticed Lupin waving at him.
"Morning, Skarlath! Back from patrol, I see. It's flippin' cold out, eh wot?"
Not a word. Not a word. I won't let them start this game up again. Skarlath merely smiled and gave an exaggerated shrug. "Eh, I've been in worse. And it's worth it, to get a look at all those trees out there. The hillsides are practically a giant work of art!"
The hare laughed. "True enough, true enough. I've always enjoyed that about this place, and I promise you that you can't get a show like that anywhere else in the world."
"I'd believe it." Skarlath decided to change the subject before things circled back around to the weather. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about a one-pawed stoat, would you? Apparently, there's one in the far north that's raising a bit of a ruckus, to hear the crows tell it."
Lupin frowned, her brow knitted in thought. "Hmm…can't say I recall ever hearing about a rotter like that. Did these crows of yours know anything else? Like a name or what they looked like?"
"I don't think so." Skarlath tried to remember. "It was 'Bad'…something. I think."
"Badrang?" A soft voice answered from Skarlath's left, and he looked to see that Bella had taken a seat next to him. "I think I know of who the crows are talking about."
"You do?"
"Yes." Bella shuddered. "Badrang was the very same beast that took me, Gonff, and Gingivere as slaves. And he did lose a paw to Martin, as I recall."
"That was the blasted rogue you met on the way up to the army, right? Surprised he's still alive, honestly." Lupin studied her mug. "Would've thought that somebeast like that'd be overthrown by their own soldiers."
"Well, apparently he wasn't. How far north did the crows say he was?"
"Far. All the way past the Broadstream, I think."
"So, then. I see no reason to worry our heads over it yet, eh wot?" Lupin glanced up at the great, empty seat where Sunflash sat during his meals. "Although, if I may speak clearly, I'm not sure we should tell his lordship. Poor fellow'd go ballistic and demand we march at once, I'd wager." She sighed. "And besides, we've ruined our victuals enough with this dour talk already! Let's talk of something happier!"
Skarlath rolled his eyes and turned back to his meat, finishing it without saying another word. The great hall was getting a bit stuffy, he decided, so once Skarlath had managed to excuse himself he flew back up to the windows and went out above the beach.
Once again the autumn winds hit him straight on, but this time he welcomed them; their bracing effect had a way of clearing his head, and he had a lot to think about. Sunflash, Badrang, the coming winter…
By the feathers, my life's become more complicated since I joined up with this lot. It was enough to make a kestrel long for the simpler days, back when he flew from place to place without having to worry about politics or whether his best friend was going to go insane.
Skarleth landed on the beach and let his talons sink into the cool sand as he gazed southwards.
I could go, he realized, and leave this behind. I could go south, where it's always warm. They've got to have kestrels down there, don't they?
For half a second it was an appealing thought – the idea that he could just take flight and go somewhere that life could be simple again, never looking back. But then that half second passed, and he looked back at the mountain that had been his home for the past year.
His home. It really was, Skarlath realized. The first place he'd called a home since he was a chick, in fact, the first place he truly felt he belonged. Eh, to blazes with it. That's worth dealing with all the complicated things, I suppose.
Skarlath took flight again, watching the waves for a bit before turning towards the mountains in the distance, looking at the glorious swathe of colors and at the white crown of snow towering above it. You know, Lupin was right: there really ISN'T a view like this anywhere else. Certainly nowhere that I've been.
He turned for home, and for once, even though he was flying straight into the wind, Skarlath realized that he actually didn't feel all that cold. Maybe I'm going native.
There were worse places to do it of course, he knew, and like as there weren't very many that were better.
Took a LOT longer to start posting this than intended, but oh well. I'll try to get the the other two chaps of this up in short order.