Jade TeaLeaf: Thank you for the complement, and Wulpp is someone who I always wondered about myself. About Wulpp returning to Marshank, when it started out rain he headed inland and traveled on dry land, and probably found a shortcut back without knowing about it.

When we last left Wulpp, the poor rat had found his way into Marshank now run by Captain Truman Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg, who apparently now has an army of corsairs.

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall... *Goes to cry in a corner*

Chapter Two

'Shovel in, push down, shovel out, shovel in, push...' This simple pattern repeat through the brain of Wulpp the rat. In his hand he clutched a wooden shovel. Sand, dirt, and mud piled up around him as Wulpp dug. Captain Clogg had said he was just going to temporarily help him, and it was just going to be simple corsair work. Wulpp didn't have any choice seeing that an arrow was being pointed at his spinal cord. It also seemed that Clogg lied, even Wulpp could tell that he was going to be there a long time. He had never dug any grave as a privateer, and he certainly never dug one with a willow cane shattering his back. It didn't help the fact that the warm, welcoming sun had turned into a scorching scourge of the arid coast. The skeleton of Boggs seemed to mock him as he continued to toil.

(A few hours later)

'Shovel in... push down... shovel out...' Progress was going by slowly, and at this rate Boggs would get his grave in... possibly a few days. That was nothing to champion gravedigger Truman Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg, the stoat had already buried a three vermin and was halfway done with another.

"Work faster you lily-livered slime," Shouted a rat with a willow cane.

'Shoveinpushdownshoveloutshovelinpushdownshovelout' Suddenly the shovel had become a blur and sand was sailing out of the hole. It might have been caused by the annihilated back of Wulpp, caused by the staff. Or it could be the fact that Wulpp had been digging for several hours, or the fact he is dehydrated and starving. Either way, he wasn't to fond of digging and found he liked crashing through the shallows of the frigid, winter sea. He didn't like the corsairs who decided they liked to whip him. By the use of careful listening, he found that they were the searats of the ship, Cutlass, which was obliterated on the shoreline. They found Marshank and got mistaken for his former crew by the crazed Clogg. They settled at Marshank and secretly were taking orders from the weasel Oilpaw, who Truman called Boggs.

The feeling that Clogg had no power here, but thought he did was enlightening, but not helpful to the fact he was stuck at Mar... Fort "Clogg" as the captain affectionately called it. Wulpp remembered never to call Marshank by its name. The last time he attempted that stunt, a stout shovel had found the way to his cranium, and soon a rosy-colored lump was rising from his head like a cake in the oven. Clogg's eyes looked like two orbs of crimson flame when he harshly informed him that it was Fort Clogg.

"How Badrang 'ould object," Snickered Wulpp before a whip came out of the shadows and obliterated his back area.

"No talking scum, or we'll get a nice fresh grave dug for ya'" Rasped a voice that resembled that of a weasel, or a fox.

(That nightfall)

The melody of crickets echoed throughout the thick walls of the slave compound. In a ragged bed... well no creature would ever call it a bed, more like a bunch of twine knotted together to form a rough hammock-like structure. Despite its rough crafting, it seemed to last out the fire better then most of the fortress did. The frigid, arctic winds blew through the creaking timber logs, causing poor Wulpp to toss and turn in the bed-like creation. In the "sleeping quarters" were few creatures, a few woodlanders and vermin who thought the area was safe and abandoned like Wulpp.

Many things criss-crossed the rats mind, such as how it could be so cold in the morning, and night, yet so hot in the middle of the day. How could this region, even if it's very arid, could make it so hot in the winter? Wulpp attempted to shove these things to the back of his mind, welcoming the deep, inky darkness as it crept through his vision, beckoning him to the land of dreams. Suddenly, a matted paw thrust him out of his bed, and suddenly, he was being dragged and tossed against the iron bars that made up one wall of the compound. Surrounding him were corsairs, all with a sinister gleam in there eyes. A brave otter attempted to save him, but a fox send a devastating kick from his powerful hind-legs that sent the otter sprawling. Then as if all of the sudden, the throngs parted and let one powerful looking rat step through. In his huge paws was a brass dagger, gleaming in the pale moonlight which fluttered through the windows. It almost looked hungry the rip into his flesh. In a thunderous, baritone voice he began speaking.

"'Ello matey, me names Fleajaw, 'ut capt' calls me Wulpp... so I hav' to kill ya' to keep our cover, ya' know?" He chuckled and raised the blade over Wulpp's heart.

Wulpp's head bobbed like there was no tomorrow, then it froze for a few seconds. It began to slowly shake, like as if to say he didn't know why he was going to die. With a heavy sigh, the rat continued to speak. But the blade remained hovering in the air, in a death-grip.

"Wel' I'm Fleajaw, but Capt' likes I'm Wulpp. So wit' you bein' Wulpp, and me bein' Wulpp. Yet you are te true Wulpp. I hav' ta kil' ya ta make sure I can be you, and you stop bein' you. So I kin remain you in da Capt's eye to stay in... Fort Clogg, oka'?"

Wulpp's brain was hurting, but he kept shaking his head. Fleajaw sighed mumbled under his breath,

"Let's git' this ova' wit!"

Well, that is all for now. Join us next time to see how Wulpp is going to get out of this predicament. This is Roronoa Reno, signing off!

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