III
Awakening slowly was a huge enough task in itself. Half of his face was badly swollen and blood slowly oozed from a facial wound just below his eye which scraped across his left cheekbone. Opening his eyes the tiniest bit, Piketail breathed a small sigh of relief to know that his eyes were not damaged in the battle.
The battle! How had he survived without becoming a slave? Where was he now? All these questions that ran through his mind were quickly interupted by a fat hedgehog.
"Well, the brave warriors awake now, eh? How you feelin' after gettin' hit in the face widda axe?"
Piketail groaned softly and sat up slowly. "I feel like I jus' got 'alf me face fur ripped off, matey. Who are you?"
"Hah, hah! If anyone should be askin' that it's me, Chief Jukro. I have no hedge'og company, so I'm just surrounded by all these other squirrels, otters and a fat feedbag of a hare."
"I hope you know you just gave me your name, Jukro," Piketail gave a weak smile.
"Well so I did... Hey, hey! An' that's Chief Jukro to you!"
"Co-could you not talk so loud Jukro, yer makin' me head wound hurt like the blazes."
"Ya won't feel much hurt after our squirrel healer fixes you up. 'S like you never had a injury to begin with," Jukro replied.
Sighing heavily, Piketail winced at the pain that lanced arcoss his heavily bruised face. He only looked up for a moment when the healer appeared.
"Let's see what happened here," the squirrelmaid mumbled to herself as she bent down to examine the wound.
Wincing and almost passing out with the pain, the otter closed his eyes tightly as the squirrel touched the long purplish bruise. Soon she was grinding herbs in a small bowl and adding mud to thicken the mixture. When the whole thing was laid on his face, Piketail instantly felt better; though he knew the bruise would take at least a week to heal.
"There, that should make your face feel better." the squirrel told him as she wrapped a length of cloth about his head to keep the poultice in place.
"Thanks for your help," Piketail spoke just as she was about to leave.
"'T'wasn't nothin'. It's my job," she replied casually and walked away.
Just as sleep began to overtake him, Piketail was rudely interupted by Jukro, again. But this time, he had brought a young ottermaid along. Her fur was sleek and glossy in the light shining through the cave, and her eyes were the colour of a leaf, freshly growing in spring. She carried a large piece of slate used as a tray, which kept a large bowl of hot soup, a farl of bread and a beaker of pear cider from falling to the ground considering the amount of weight.
"Here you are," was all that she said.
"Uh... thanks. Hope it tastes as good as it smells," Piketail smiled before he tore into the farl of still warm bread.
"Git out my sight, all o' ye! One otter killed six of my horde! An' you could barely leave a mark on 'im? What's wrong with you!?" High Captain Craaglak roared angrily at his cowed troups.
The scarred rat swung his sabre around, scattering the horde around him.
One rat directly in his path was unlucky enough to be heard mumbling to a weasel by the High Captain.
"What was that, Mealgrub? You got somethin' to say?" Craaglak sneered.
"B-but Captain, those udder creatures 'elped the streamdog..." the rat soon trailed off as the superior rat's eyes gleamed dangerously.
Mealgrub quickly scurried away before the High Captain Craaglak could decide his torture.
Rolling his one eye at the stupidity of some of his creatures, well, more like all of them, High Captain Craaglak wondered how any other leaders put up with their dumb hordebeasts.
He had always heard it said that the dumber the hordebeast was, the easier they were to control. But he knew that was a complete lie. They were even more difficult with their slow wits and all they ever felt like doing was gambling and sleeping. Sometimes he wondered if any of his hordebeasts had any brains to speak of.
"Uh... Captain?" a weasel started, poking the Captain with a grimy claw.
"What is it, Waxpaw?" Craaglak growled without looking at the speaker. He was completely fed up and did not want to be bothered.
"What we gonna do now?"
The rat Captain faltered for a moment. He hadn't thought of that. Scratching at an unhealed wound an inch below his eye had become a habit for him when thinking, hence the fact that it was not healed. He proceeded to do this exact thing now as he thought hastily for a reply to the weasel's question.
"Hmm... that otter can't run forever now, so we'll catch 'im and show how hospitable we are to guests. I won't be caught unawares again," he answered after a few moments of silence.
"Aye, good idea, Captain."
"Of course it was good, it was my idea, was it not?"
Waxpaw stood motionless for a second, thinking over what he had just heard. "Is, uh... is that a trick question, Cap'n?"
"No, you idiot! Don't you know how to answer to anybeast? Especially your superior!?" High Captain Craaglak snarled visciously at the unfortunately dim-witted weasel.
Not wanting the Captain to find any further fault with his thought-capacity, Waxpaw stumbled away from his angered Captain, tripping over an injured fox on his way.
Sighing heavily, Craaglak slunk off to a tent erected for him on the out-skirts of the horde. The mottled-ash coloured rat slumped under the canvas into a sitting position and watched the antics of his druken horde, gambling away and laughing uproariously at nothing.
A leader's job was the hardest of any horde position. It was almost impossible not to go insane.
After eating a sufficient amount of food and having Chief Jukro interrupt him yet again, Piketail was finally allowed some time with his seagull friend, Skrikeweb. He was brought in by the ottermaid he had seen earlier who brought the food.
"Haharr! You brought in me matey Skrikeweb, did ya now?" Piketail chortled when he saw the seagull stump along behind the otter.
"Aye, I did, she replied.
Piketail motioned for the ottermaid to have a seat with a scarred paw as he patted his seagull with the other.
"So, why is this Chief Jukro always bargin' in here at odd times?" Piketail asked casually. He knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to the pretty ottermaid.
"Oh, Chief Jukro's always been a bit forgetful. You were out for a few hours before he remembered you were in the cave and might need some food. His kindred aren't much better than him, but they fight well. You wouldn't have escaped those vermin alive if he hadn't come."
"Well, at least the old pincushion can fight good," Piketail nodded approvingly.
A long silence ensued, so long in fact that Skrikeweb had begun to doze by the time the ottermaid spoke up.
"By the way, I'm Swiftstream. What's your name?"
"Piketail. That's me ole friend Skrikeweb," he answered, pointing to the sleeping seagull.
"Perhaps... we should go outside... let your seagull friend rest," Swiftstream suggested nervously.
"Naw. Skrikeweb'd get worried if I left 'im."
As Piketail spoke, his paw rested on the seagull's head, which forced Skrikeweb awake, quite to his indignation. The seabird shreeked angrily and the otter, raging in his own tongue about one injustice or another.
"Maybe we should leave 'im," Piketail glanced over at Skrikeweb as the bird began to settle back down.
Offering her paw, Piketail took it and hauled his aching body up, groaning as his stiff muscles reacted to the strain. "Oh great, now I sound like an old mouse."
Swiftstream laughed pleasantly at this remark.
The two otters toured around the camp, Piketail asking questions and Swiftstream in her turn, answering them as best she could. She was trying to explain to Piketail the ways of the camp at the moment.
"But Piketail, everybeast has to get along with each other. No creature is left out or neglected here."
"Well, I'll be the one fightin' te get away from everybeast. It ain't natural for all these creatures to be here at the same time. It's suffocating."
"Even you, oh soliatary being, have to admit that all this company is a good thing," Swiftstream replied, punching his arm lightly.
Piketail rolled his eyes, but didn't retaliate. He could not measure his own strength, and did not want to knock the ottermaid off her paws. But he definitely didn't say anything to her about it. She was very dignified, but turned ferocious when her athletic abilities or physical will and whim were questioned.
The two otters walked on silently for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.
Piketail was thinking of that time, not so long ago when he couldn't even look out of his own cave, and now here he was, socializing with everybeast he met, against his will! Normally, Piketail would never do such a thing, but he figured he owed them his life and returning a friendly comment or two wasn't going to kill him.
"Piketail! Are you even listening to me?!" Swiftstream yelled loudly into his ear.
He had unknowingly been asked a question, but, being off in his own thoughts, he had completely missed that and at least five minutes of anything else she had said.
"Huh, what?" he stuttered after a moment.
Swiftstream huffed in annoyance. "Never mind, you probably wouldn't care anyway."
Piketail saw the hurt expression on her face and decided to keep quiet, he might accidently insult the pretty ottermaid.
"Well, anyways... Chief Jukro asked me to ask you if you wanted to stay with us for the midsummer feast. Will you?" she asked, her eyes taking on a slightly pleading look. He gave her a strange sideways glance at this, wondering if she even realized that she had done that.
"What? You don't wanna come? Well that's fi-"
"No, no, no!" Piketail replied, his paws automatically waving back and forth as if he meant to wipe away the look he had given her from his mind.
"So, you're going?"
"Uh... I... umm..." the male otter stuttered, intimidated by the female otter's forwardness.
"Yes or no?" Swiftstream demanded, almost growling it out. Her eyes were cold and angry, her way of a no-nonsense answer.
Why couldn't he get out the answer? Was he trying not to laugh at her expression as it slowly turned to outrage? Shaking his head to clear it, Piketail finally got hold of his tongue. "Uh... yeah, sure. I'll go."
"Good. It's settled then," Swiftstream replied, a note of relief detected in her voice. "I'll tell Jukro that."
The two walked in slience for a time, Piketail savouring the quiet, peaceful forest, Swiftstream enjoying another's company. Although a chilling breeze swept in, both creatures were kept warm by their thoughts.
Creatures of the Abbey bustled to and fro, gathering ripe strawberries and other crops from the orchard or working the kitchens to prepare the food.
Mury Cluff watched the Dibbuns to make sure that they were not near the windowledge of the kitchen at any time, but he could be seen swiping the occasional pasty or scone from the ledge.
There was only one day left until the feast would be upon the Abbeybeasts, and old Brother Malfield was frantic.
"No! Don't pull the strawberries off like that, you'll crush them!" he wailed at a young mousemaid picking as she picked them.
A short while later and yells from the kitchen could be heard. "Mury Cluff! I've had enough of your pie-pinching, scone-swiping days! Stay away from that windowledge, and don't you dare even think about getting in these kitchens!"
While he had been lecturing the old campaign hare, three Dibbuns had been working together to grab a batch of cooling scones from the ledge.
Abbess Laurelyne caught Brother Malfield weeping behind the steps to the battlements as she passed by.
"Oh, what's wrong Brother? Surely the Abbey has not set afire since you lost control."
"This is no time for your jokes Mother Abbess. The entire feast will be ruined! I- I-" the old mouse broke down, sobbing into a kerchief.
"There, there Malfield. Nothing bad is going to happen without your giudance. These creatures can take care of themselves. Perhaps you should try something to help out in the celebrations to take your mind off of otherbeasts' problems," she replied, patting him on the shoulder.
"Maybe your right, Abbess. I'm getting too worked up over everything. I think I will put in a little something for the feast. A woodland cream trifle, perhaps?"
"That's the spirit. Now come and stop your sorrow, there's a cake waiting to be made in that kitchen."
Brother Malfield set off for the kitchen in a most unlikely fashion, almost running to get there.
The Abbess chuckled at his antics and turned about to finish her walk through the grounds.
Although he was awakened in the night when he accidently upset the basket that Skrikeweb slept in, he had slept peacefully. Piketail had gained an angry screeching and a swollen nose from the incident.
He applied pressure to his facial scar from earlier in the week, but found that it was completely free of pain.
Today was the day of the midsummer feast. It was a little early, but feasts never had to be on the actual day, he figured.
Benches were being placed around in the shape of a hexagon, with space for creatures to get into the center to perform. This was swiftly followed by a huge pot full of shrimp, hotroot and watercress soup being made in a large pit.
Farls upon farls of bread varying in colour, size, shape, texture and taste were placed on each table, salad quickly following. Everybeast laid a contribution to the feast on the table, smiling at the admiring glances each gave to their platter.
Piketail had even baked something. With the help of Chief Jukro, he had made an assortment of fruit crumbles smothered in thick daubs of rose-hued meadowcream.
As each dish was laid on the table, the otter's mouth watered more and more, his eyes filled with rapture at all the delicious spreads.
He wouldn't miss this feast for anything else.
Hurray! I've finally finished another chapter in this story. I had wanted to do it earlier, but I could never find the time between school, homework, reading and writing other stories.
At least it's done now. And it's longer too!
Zealak Silverdirk