Postlude
Myrai turned the last page and closed the heavy book, which seemed small and weightless in her massive paws.
"So, what do you think?" Snowpaw, the Recorder of Redwall, heard the sound and looked at her from his table.
"First, weren't you supposed to write a chronicle, not a book for entertaining your readers? Why leave important things muddled to the last pages?"
"An unfortunate habit from too many seasons of telling stories, you may say. And all that happened since I came to Redwall can fill a half of another volume, which I still have to write. Yet I thought I cannot keep everybeast waiting for seasons more. By the time I finish everything, this generation of youngsters may well be adults…"
Myrai shrugged. "And then, would it have hurt your book to have more of fine young ladies, like I was back then, on its pages? Maybe I wasn't really present in the next to last scene, because until about the middle of that winter I was too ill to play outside, but you could have mentioned that I was at Redwall, at least!"
"Myrai," the Recorder affected a manner of a stern teacher, looking at an unruly youngster. "Why are you so eager to be in a story that really belongs to other beasts, in the seasons when you are making a story of your own? Don't be greedy."
Myrai, the big ginger-furred wildcat, once called Foxfur, chuckled slightly. "I guess you're right. And when will you have time to write down more of that story in details?"