The ferret stood calmly in the face of danger, watching. Always watching. His eyes moved back and forth ceaselessly, like twin pools of liquid gold. He was taller than most, lean and sinewy. He twirled, threw and caught the broadsword he held in his paw, lazily, carelessly. The ferret was Tsutaka Swiftwind, and none was faster. He was a light yellowish cream color, from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, like the color of the sun at early, early dawn. His chest fur was dark gray, as was his "ferret mask" and his eyes the darkest gold. Tsutaka stood light on his paws, guard never down. Some inner feeling, a sensation, warned him that all was not right. First he heard the rustling. Striding forward, he called out,
"Who, or wot are ye, I don't stand for sneakiness in a beast! Show yoreself, move it!"
It was the last move Tsutaka made for a long, long time.
"Kssatcha!"
Fligg continued scrambling away on all fours until the big, white ermine was out of sight. Panting, he lay down at the edge of the camp and started to compose a song.
"Oh, big smelly ermine,
They're smelly…and…mean…
Smelly…mean…mea…"
His song lapsed into snores. As he slept, he did not notice the ferret that stole out of the shadows and came over to his "bed." The ferret looked around, furtively, and started rummaging through Fligg's bag. The ferret took a flask of cordial, some flatbread, a short dagger, and a canteen of water. Then, looking around again, it stowed them in its own bag and padded quietly out of the camp on to the plains, unwittingly heading in the direction of Mossflower Woods and Redwall Abbey.
The ferret, whose name was Reilly, hurried out onto the plains. He was pure white, with flaming red eyes, wearing a short tunic made of a soft fabric. A rapier was shoved through a belt slung from left to right, shoulder to waist.
Dusk had fallen a few hours ago, and he noticed how quiet it was on the plains. No crickets, no nocturnal birds, nothing. Feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck, Reilly started to run out of instinct. Sure enough, he heard the rhythmic sounds of footpaws thrumming on the dry, scrubby earth. Tum…tum…tum…tumtumtumtumtum…The sounds got faster as they got closer. Peeking behind him, Reilly could just barely make out the shape of a creature a bit smaller than a Badger Lord. The creature was tall, thin, and looked like a hare, but moved by hopping, which ate up the ground incredibly fast. He couldn't tell any other details, but he knew for certain that it was not chasing him out of friendliness. Gasping for breath, he stumbled and fell, and the creature fell over him, carried on by its own momentum. Almost in the same instant, it leapt upright, and bound his paws behind his back.
"Who are ye? I didn't do ye any harm! Unhand me! You got no right to imprison me like this!" Reilly screamed and shouted, his rant cutting into the night sky like a hot knife through butter. The creature responded as it gagged him with his own belt, its voice hissing like a snake.
"Ksss, weknow, weknow, but youdon't, youdon't. Wesee, wesee, catcha, catcha, whooshawhoosh! Neveraknow we comin'. Sofast, sofast is us! Roo-aaaaaaa! Roo-aaaaaaa!"
Merry chatter and laughter rang through the Great Hall as the Feast of Peace commenced. After reciting the grace, old Abbot Bartholomew, or Barty for short, proclaimed,
"May many more seasons of peace prevail over our beloved home, Redwall Abbey!"
All of the beasts in the room, including the babes (known as Dibbuns), cheered lustily and fell to with a will. The feast was one to be remembered, tables chock full of the delicious and famous Redwall food. Puddings, pies, pasties and cakes were arranged between fruits, berries and nuts, fresh and preserved in honey. Salads, breads and soups of every kind fought for position with trifles and flans. Spike Bluetipp, the Cellarhog, had outdone himself with a selection of ales, teas, cordials, and fizzes. But the highlight was a humongous grayling, marinated and cooked by the Friar himself. Grilled over a low fire, it was seasoned with onions, dill, and button mushrooms. The aromatic scent wafted itself over to the hare, Malady Stag Hare, whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was Basil Stag Hare. Malady, like most hares of her age, was possessed of an over-healthy appetite. Soon as she scented the fish, she laughed, and said to her neighbor,
"Whoohahahaha! That fish sure seems nice, eh, old chap?"
The mole sitting next to her replied, "Boo hurr, marm, it sure do. Oi'd be apleased if you'd leave a purr mole some o' thart."
"Why, sure thing, old lad. Whoohahahaha! Pass that Deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot poi, I mean, pie, wot!"
The merry banter continued across the room, everyone laughing and chatting happily as the feast continued.
"Pass the October Ale, please!"
"That flan, gimme some, quick!"
"Oooh, let a purr mole choild loike moiself get arter tha' pudden!"
"Please, oh please, I need some o' that fish, hurry will ye!"
"You knows how we otters likes our watershrimp soup! Pass the 'Otroot, matey!"