Chapter 3:
"The Dark Side To Onions"
Toolum the mole was the only beast of the band that was even half-capable of fixing the broken spokes on the refugees' wagon. Of course, everybeast had assumed this upon glancing shortly at him and seeing that he was indeed a mole. Of course, he grumbled to himself. All moles must be master craftsbeasts... Just like all squirrels can climb trees without getting stuck on a funny-shaped branch or all otters can hold their breaths for nine minutes, right from popping out of their mothers! Ohh, how simple life is!
Grunting and covered in axle grease, the mole shimmied out from under the crippled vehicle and tossed a cracked wooden cog to the side. Suuuure, Da, thanks. Teach me repair crafts, why don't ya. Let's prove everybeast right, shall we? And condemn me to a sorry life fixing everyone's worst problems while they all go play posy chains, hunh!
Not far away, the stoat newcomer was being led about by his new comrade-in-arms. The young hare sniggered with devilish malice as he passed one of two oddly-shaped sacks to the inquisitive mustelid. Falcontooth peeled the open part of the bag apart slightly and sniffed it, then jerked back at the offensive odor.
"Err, Bowflogg, mate, what is this stuff..?"
"Old onion skins."
"... 'Ow old?"
"Much to old t' be doin' this with..!" The hare rubbed his paws together with glee, watching their victim from afar, "Time for some jolly fun for once. C'mon, y've got my back. When I shouts, you throw an' make like a lizard in a blizzard!"
"Uhhh..."
It was much too late to try and stop the youngbeast. Creeping across the open lands of the dusty path, Bowflogg clutched the smelly bag in both paws. Falcontooth followed with a bit less enthusiasm, still not sure what was going to happen. The young hare flashed a grin and paused just a few paces from the working mole, holding the sack with the dangerous contents high above his head as a sapsucker would poking holes in tree bark.
"Good mornin', Toolam!"
"Oh, gurr, g' mornin' ee yung--"
Spplikk!
Toolam leaped up with a howl of outrage, prompting the young hare to nearly flip over backwards in the beginnings of flight and the young stoat to drop his own stinkbomb on the ground at his feet. The mole flung stringy bits of greened onion skins from his face and headfur as he began flailing about, seeking his attacker with clenched digging claws and pryboard.
"You 'orrible shirkin' rotten...! Come yurr an' let oi show yer th' color o' yurr bludd! C'm yurr, Oi tell yurr! Stand in th' way o' moi boawrd an' that'll teach yurr t' do that again!"
Bowflogg's timing was perfect, but he had yet to consider the loose variable: Stoat. Falcontooth gave a start at the hideous cursing screech emitted by the mole and staggered this way and that, seeking a place to hide himself and the evidence that he was a part of the sinister dealings. The young hare's well-planned escape route connected with the young mustelid's poorly thought-out blunderings.
Whump!
The two brought each other down, exploding the second bag of nastiness in the process. As the stench cleared they both peered up to find Toolam the mole standing over them, paws laced together about the pryboard slung over his burly shoulder. He winked and grinned at the sorry duo.
"Welm, yung 'uns... Ee's gonner 'ave to 'ave a word with Missus Nayda an' ee gudd badgermaiden Woidcatt, hurr hurr..."
Oh noes! Not...not... WOIDCATT... XD