37. Questions.

"Mmmmm… delicious!" Selvathy licked her claws smiling blissfully, an expression that made her look way younger.

Or, more accurately, her real age, as Rowanbloom reminded herself. Going by Mossflower ways this otter still was not old enough to marry without raising some eyebrows. And yet she already was a battle-scarred veteran, with enough harrowing experiences to be more wordly-wise than the Redwall squirrel in some ways. The realization that a beast little more than one-third her age felt obliged to help her along left Rowanbloom with quite a bit of shame deep down. But even deeper in her heart, she was immensely glad to have a friend.

"Eat to your heart's content, first come first serve." Rowanbloom was not a real cook by Redwall standards, but you didn't need to be one to feel all warm and fuzzy from the sight of another creature enjoying your food. Besides, given what Redwall standards of cooking were, those of her mother's lessons she managed to learn still put Rowanbloom's food safely above anybeast else's for many miles around. And now she managed to improvise pretty good small cakes out of honey, nuts and dried apples.

"I'll take these to the sittin' room." Selvathy shook her head, as she picked a big tray. "Them hares must be getting' restless from all this smell, ain't that right? You come too."

"In a minute, I will tidy up the place and go."

Rowanbloom felt that presence of another beast in the room just about when her work was done. It was not her ears that warned her, but a strange, uneasy gut feeling that she learned to watch for as of late. She turned to see Ewalt the Ghost.

"Ehm, I'm sorry." The warrior mouse stopped and took a step back. "I wasn't stalking you. Just force of habit, as they say."

"If you cannot help but walk like a soft breeze then knock on something when you enter!" Rowanbloom shook her head and continued in a milder tone, as her heartbeat gradually went back to normal. "Do you want a cake?"

Ewalt looked down then back at her. "That too but I just wanted to say, I need your advice. To talk with you face to face again."

"Well, that's a wish not hard to grant. But later. Take this dish and let's come to the big room for now."

A few hours passed before Ewalt and Rowanbloom sat at the burrow's kitchen, illuminated by dim light of a wicker lamp, again. With many beasts in a limited number of rooms, privacy sometimes was hard to get.

"So, what did you want to ask?"

Ewalt scratched his ear, the torn one. Remarkably, it took him maybe half a minute to answer. "I reckon that one night not so long ago you were saying to me that we all are tempted to evil but can fight the temptation and that you wonder if vermin are the same."

For a brief moment Rowanbloom stared at him blankly then remembered the night of their landfall. "Yes, I think I did. But why remember this now?"

"I'm not a beast to dwell on a thought endlessly. But meeting our friend Flicker and hearing his story made me ponder it all again…" The mouse looked right at the squirrel's eyes. "For all my life, ever since I was old enough to fight next to my father, I fought thrice-damned vermin. I've left more vermin dead behind me than I've seen moons. I've lost all of my kin to them and watched them do things that made even my blood freeze. But I still feel guilty for pointing my weapon at the bloody robber fox! Is it just because he saved my life, and probably by chance? Is it because I'm turning more and more like them? Can vermin really turn into goodbeasts, as Flicker say? Can you tell me?"

"The last time I advised woodlanders on what is right and what is wrong, most of them died and died in vain. Are you sure you want my opinion, Ewalt?" Rowanbloom answered slowly and carefully.

Ewalt shook his head. "What happened nobeast could foresee without actually foreseeing the future. The advice you gave to Ilmo was good and honest."

"And are you sure you can expect a sincere answer from me? And not an answer aimed to make us all cooperate better for the time being?"

The warrior mouse almost rolled his eyes. "It's unfair. I'm supposed to be the one who doubts myself here. Besides, I don't think I'm a very trusting beast, but since we first met you always spoke your mind. Even when you should have known better, yeah. If you really are cunning and manipulative then you're so good at it, that I'm going to do what you want me to do anyway."

The Redwall squirrel smiled wryly. "As you wish. Once upon a time I heard you, Ewalt, saying to the very fox of whom you spoke, that if one's friend is about to do something bad, then it's one's duty to correct him. Now act like you meant it. To treat him as friend, if you're following me. I'm largely sure that's what Flicker and his parents and the rest of their company did."

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Unbeknown to Ewalt, he was not the only beast to ponder the nature of his companions that night.

"What do you think of woodlanders?"

The fox heard Kethra moving, probably to look at his face, or at least in its general direction, as the burrow's room was pitch dark. "What a bloody strange question to hear from you of all beasts and now of all times. Woodlanders are prey creatures who lack strength, cunning and nerve of real beasts. Well, sometimes a real fighter like Ewalt is born among their yellow-bellied kind because the Lord of Fate likes to mock us all. But a mockery is a mockery. What suddenly got into you, Suran?"

The big vulpine sounded unusually contemplative. "Nothing. Just thinking. Well, you know, you remember my sword? Pretty good steel, don't you think? I had to kill a fox because I wanted it and, give or take, three more beasts because they wanted it. And every single one of our new hare friends has a weapon just as good. And then their armors – I don't think I ever met a smith who could forge steel plates like…"

"By all the winter's snow! If you have something, just bloody say it."

"I don't know. Just thinking. About our dear squirrel healer's stories too. Yeah, unusual for me, I know. Nevermind, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Soon gentle snoring indicated to Kethra that the fox fell asleep. She had to envy this ability to forget all the troubles as soon as he shut his eyes. She had it once; before Marroch had the gall to die and leave her alone to think for herself. And now in particular, after Suran's words, her thoughts were running about like ants over a disturbed anthill. A good and virtuous ferret warrior was brave and not afraid of death, true to her word, loyal to her relatives and comrades, usually in that order, respectful to fellow warriors and fair to her tribebeasts… Well, as Marroch once said, realistically a warlord should settle for 'brave' in his warriors. Yet why had so many of the survivors from his – now hers – band proved themselves to be abject cowards, while none of woodlanders, those pitiful prey creatures she came to know over the recent moons, not even the weakling medicine squirrel, not even the former slave, did?

Kethra clawed at her coarse bed restlessly, unable to banish the turbulent thoughts.

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"Do ye think we can trust those four vermin?"

The unexpected question made Captain Aldwin turn to his lieutenant. Bascinette got pretty lucky. Both of them had seen hares lose their footpaws and even lives from wounds like the one she suffered, but this time the injury seemed to be healing with no trouble.

"Trust?" The captain shook his head. "By all the old badger ghosts, no. Be polite but expect the worst and keep your blade close at paw, that's the way with vermin, whatever might be theirs destiny. Chaps are already getting' all too chummy with them."

"That… really ain't the answer I expected from ye."

Aldwin stared at the female hare long enough to make her question whether she got too bold. Bascinette believed that no living hare is closer to Aldwin than her… which still meant considerably more distance than she liked.

"Is that because I'm showin' vermin more mercy than can be blinkin' well expected from a captain of scouts in the Long Patrol?" When Bascinette nodded, Aldwin sighed before continuing. "Methinks you're misreadin' me, my pretty, though you're not the only one, wot. I never spared any vermin lives because I thought it was a wise move. Sure, I hoped that maybe one day my mercy pays off. But a hope is, well, just a blinkin' hope. I guess I did that because my heart is simply too soft, but I never dropped my guard around vermin and neither should you."

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Even the fury of winter was not endless. Just when tempers of beasts trapped in the underground home started fraying from long confinement and food stores dwindled dangerously, storms finally abated and the bright sun reflected blindingly from the white landscape of the forest buried under two hare heights of snow. Many woodland creatures were doomed to die buried in their lairs this season, but Flicker's dwelling was constructed soundly and there were plenty of strong paws to dig their way out.

Thanks to the thick ice crust, firm enough to hold a fox or a hare in full battle garb, travel was going to be much easier now. Unlike building fires to counter biting cold at nights, but winter wouldn't be winter if it brought no trouble at all. Seeing as even Lieutenant Bascinette now recovered enough to walk reasonably fast with a spear as a crutch, Aldwin decided that they've lost enough time already. Counting days was not easy when trapped beneath the ground but by his guess seasons already should have turned.

"Chaps back at the Mountain might start buryin' us in our absence if we tarry any longer." Aldwin looked over the changed land, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the bright light.

"I think I'll go for a stroll with you, down to the River Moss at least." Flicker informed him. "Just in case, yes."

"Ain't no need for that. Though you're welcome if you want to visit Salamandastron with us."

"I just want to stretch my paws, believe me or not. And while you honor me with your invitation, I have a business I dream to finish one day up here."

"Will leavin' you some weapons fit for a squirrel help with that business? No offense and all that but your knife fits more for cutting apples."

Flicker shook his head. "I'm a sneak, not a warrior, wearing a real weapon will only hurt me; might give me wrong ideas, take away my edge in stealth, right. A sharp knife is enough. Maybe I won't need even it for what I want to do, if you believe me."

The edge Flicker talked about was put to the test before seven days ran out, on the seventh evening when the group broke the final camp before crossing the River Moss the natural border between High North Coast and what was considered Salamandastron territory…

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Scrimmo wrapped the thick linen cloak tighter around himself. Heddin Wintersky was worthy of his byname, seemingly impervious to cold and donning anything heavier than a kilt only at his aunt's insistence, while Torbit, perhaps unconsciously, copied him by wearing his cloak loosely. But Scrimmo was neither miraculously resilient, nor lacking the common sense to admit that a cold that cracked ancient trees and froze spits in flight might get under even his warm otter hide.

He looked at the backs of the two fools he was thinking about. Heddin certainly took a liking to young Torbit, but Scrimmo would have preferred the exact opposite. And not only because that meant the former Starscatter otters were taken on patrols like this one more often. Had Heddin been mean, unfair or ill-disposed to them, it wouldn't be so easy listening to him and obeying. But the big otter was a born hero and chieftain; Scrimmo could not fathom how a creature of such virtue could champion an unjust cause. And he dreaded finding the same answer to this conundrum which Heddin once found.

Lost in thought for a moment, he nearly slammed into Torbit's back when the other two otters suddenly stopped.

"I think I've heard something." Heddin froze in place, his left paw raised in a halting gesture, his eyes scanning the forest. Neither of the Starscatter otters had heard him speaking so quietly until now. "But I'm not sure. Continue back to the camp, I'll go and check."

Before Torbit or Scrimmo thought of a question to ask, Heddin took off quietly and swiftly as a sudden gust of wind.

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As a tracker Heddin Wintersky was among the best. And while merely being among the best was a step down from his record as a warrior, being puzzled or confused was just not something that happened to him in the forest. Not until today at least. The big otter did not believe in ghosts and was not prone to imagining things so he was almost sure he really heard, he really sensed something suspicious, some movement – and more than once. But the beast that produced those seemed to vanish without a trace every time Heddin tried to close, not allowing the otter to catch even a glimpse of him.

The otter looked around again. The sparkling white winter realm, now colored into soft shades of pink and scarlet by the setting sun, was strikingly beautiful, in an ominous way, but Heddin was too concentrated on his goal to notice that. He pretended to relaxed and lower his weapon – while remaining just alert and tense on the inside. If there was a beast capable of hiding from him, maybe playing an unsuspecting target could lure him out?

Unknowingly to Heddin, in the sole direction at which the otter failed to look, on a rather thin branch directly over his head, there indeed was a beast, and now that that beast's heart started beating faster.

Flicker could clearly see the otter, from the tips of the small ears to the end of the powerful tail. The grey squirrel intended only to lead the otters away, so that they won't accidentally stumble on the camp of his new friends. He did not succeed as well as he hoped, but now he got an opportunity he dreamed about for a long time – finding Heddin all alone. If only that happened fifteen or twenty seasons ago! But now just grabbing him and getting him well away from the monsters who pretended to be his family was out of the question. Flicker doubted that he and his puny weapon could do anything to Heddin of today even with surprise on his side, least of all knocking the mighty otter out non-lethally. That left Flicker with only one option.

Before Heddin moved ten steps away, there was a soft sound behind his back. The otter whirled to face its source, his sword instantly at the ready, but Flicker was already standing on the ice crust, paws raised in a common gesture of submission. "I know it is unexpected, but, believe me or not, we need to talk."

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Whether the disaster about to ensue could be called a whim of fate despite all of the decisions that contributed to it – that was an interesting question, at least to some minds among those who looked at the whole story later. Certainly the border between its possibility and actuality easily could have been not crossed. Selvathy herself was unable to remember later why she wanted to take a walk before settling down to sleep in the burrow freshly made in the snow to spend the night. Meanwhile, Torbit and Scrimmo were watching too intently for Heddin's return and that made them prone to missing things right under their own footpaws. Walking towards their own coastal camp, much farther to the west, they were going to entirely miss the beasts finding whom was the whole reason for their patrol – until they circled around a half-buried fir tree and nearly collided with Selvathy.

"Dumbstruck" was perhaps too soft of a word to describe reactions of both parties to this entirely unexpected meeting. The very time seemed to freeze, as Selvathy and Torbit looked at each other incredulously. Then, as if on cue, both jumped back. Remarkably neither remembered about their weapons at first. Even after everything that happened, raising arms against one's own kin was something that required deliberate thought and reasoning.

"Ye traitor!" Torbit was the first to regain his speech, or at least his growl.

"Traitor yerself!" Selvathy was not about to let the accusation stand, even if – or especially because – it was true, from the most commonly accepted point of view. "Who wanted to play yer comrades false?"

"And who turned on yer own blood?"

"Wait, wait!" Scrimmo hissed, stepping forward and waving his paws. "We're all of the Starscatter tribe, we should not be fightin' each other!"

"And what should we be doin'?" Torbit cast a slanted look at him. "Turn around and let her and her vermin friends go their merry way?"

"Yes!" Scrimmo grabbed Torbit's shoulder. "Our kinsotters won't return if we send another one to 'em, dead an' cold!"

"Or go meet 'em yerselves," Selvathy added upon seeing Torbit visibly torn. "Listen, I don't know what ye're doin' here, but I swear, I meant, I still mean to avenge our tribe, nothin' more."

Torbit desperately looked around, as if hoping to see Heddin coming so that the burden of decision might be removed from his shoulders. Whom he actually saw was Tesak, the hare on watch this evening, alerted by not-that-low voices and now quietly moving behind the two unfamiliar otters. The veteran scout was not sure what's going on and wanted to ascertain the situation rather than hurt fellow woodlanders – else Torbit and Scrimmo would have already had an arrow in each of their backs – but Torbit was too tightly strung to think about this.

"…and may all rivers, lakes, seas and oceans in this world and the next reject me, if I listen to yer lies then!"

Torbit shoved Scrimmo away, as his own words, spoken on the night when Selvathy's way parted with theirs, resounded in his head like a bell toll and shouted.