On my tenth night in the Forest I dreamed that my parents threw another feast, this time celebrating the army's safe return with Brome and me. Many of our friends who lived along the broadstream joined us as well, and the music and dancing went on far into the night. I sat with Martin, Brome, Grumm, and Pallum, our conversation ranging far and our laughter frequent. Martin was nearly finished with his fourth goblet of wine when, out of the blue, he turned and started snogging me in full view of the entire table. I wasn't anywhere near that drunk, but if the handsome mouse Warrior I'd quite-a-bit-more-than-fancied for weeks was in the mood to be forward, I certainly wasn't going to complain. When we surfaced, Pallum and Grumm were chortling into their napkins and my traitor of a brother had announced the occasion to everybeast within earshot. What else was there to do? I grinned at the amused onlookers and then pulled Martin to me again, amid peals of laughter from our companions.
I could not bring myself to get up until mid-afternoon, or what passes for it in this gloomy mist, the next day. As I scrubbed my tear-sodden pillowcase in the small, sluggish stream outside my door, I tried to pull myself together. I do not regret dying for Martin, Grumm, and Pallum. No, I am proud of the fact that if my death was necessary at such a young age, I sacrificed it to save the lives of my best friends, including the mouse I love.
But I do wish that I could have drifted off to sleep in his arms some crisp autumn morning in Noonvale seasons and seasons from now, our children and grandchildren surrounding us, and then woken up to find myself here, at peace.