Hi... new chapter. Yeah. The next chapter in is the works. Should be out May 2nd at the latest.. so dratted busy. Sorry. Can you guess who the unnamed leveret is? I plan to name him the next chapter.

Chapter Twelve: Changing Tides

he world faded in from blackness. It was dark, but she could tell they were in a cave of some kind. Cool stone brushed her face when she sat up, hitting her head on the roof.

She froze as something stirred, disturbed by her movement. A surprised voice echoed out of the darkness, allaying her fears. "Heh, what do ye know- we're still alive!"

Tullgrew laughed. "Course we are, you brought us here didn't you?"

Keyla squirmed sheepishly. "I had no idea this cave was here," he confessed, "I just picked a random direction."

"Keyla!"

"What? You're alive aren't you?"

"The others might not be," she muttered testily. He turned away swiftly, as if she had struck him, and a barely audible gasp escaped his throat. She flushed with shame as she realized, too late, the effect her words would have on him. "Keyla, it's not your fault! I didn't mean-"

"Hush!" He had gone rigid, head cocked to the side as if listening. He clambered out the hole, standing in the cool desert air. Two fires burned, one on the shore, the other deeper into the desert.

"Keyla?" she asked, slightly annoyed as she scrambled out beside him, the javelins strapped to her back catching on the stone for a minute. He relaxed and helped her out, a puzzled look in his eyes.

"I thought I heard something. Either way, two fires . . ." he trailed off.

"Do you suppose those . . . little creatures trailed us?"

The other shook his head. "Jules, Lawd, or myself would have picked up on it sooner or later. And how could they have passed Salamandastron without being discovered by-"

Unobstructed by the stone walls of their shelter, the shrill cry of pain and terror was clearly audible.

The otter exploded into action, running swiftly across the sand like a deer, somehow overcoming his earlier problem of balance. Thrusting her puzzlement to the back of her mind,Tullgrew hastened after him as best she could, javelins at the ready. She slipped almost instantly on the sand, nearly impaling herself on a javelin.

She groaned. Not again!

***

Blacknose looked on in puzzlement as Zounzdican examined carefully the device she had made with her own paws. "How is that going to do any good, my lady? They don't have a door!"

She sat back, pleased with her handiwork, and smirked at the clueless weasel. "Precisely why they won't expect it!"

He scratched his snout. "But-"

She sighed condescendingly, wondering why in the world she had made a male her second in Ripred's absence. A slight hint of stupidity on her part. She couldn't afford stupidity.

"Just do as I say!"

***

The sun shone cheerily down on them, filling the day with glorious light.

They had been unaffected by the storm, watching the woodlanders seemingly get devoured by the swirling golden sand.

The youngest of the vermin, a stoat named Haddix, spoke first. "So, wot does we do now?"

A young female ferret named Crow (named for the first thing her dad had killed after she was born), spoke for half of the crew. "We should go back. There's no way they survived that storm. Even if'n they did make it, how do two woodlanders make a difference?"

Fatgutt bit into the leg of a seabird he had caught, ripping the flesh from the bone in one swift jerk. "There were five," he remarked icily, "And one of them happens to have an engagement with my halberd, if ye know what I mean." He ran a loving paw down its edge, which he always kept sharp.

"Then you can go on while the rest of us return, Fatty," she muttered, "You're the one who made a fool of the rest of us at negotiations."

The rat snarled and leapt to his feet but Ripred intervened. "Stop! Fighting among ourselves won't accomplish anything!"

Reluctantly the vermin settled down. "I'm sure I only saw two," maintained Crow with a glare at Fatgutt. "Two stinkin' woodlanders. Huh! Next we'll be running from woodp-"

Haddix interrupted her. "Ripred's in charge and wot he says goes." All the vermin looked at him expectantly.

Ripred hesitated. What to do? No matter what he chose, Fatgutt would follow that male otter to the edge of the earth. If only Fatgutt didn't have such pride!

The best he could do was follow and ensure that none of those woodlanders came to harm.

"We keep following until we're sure they're dead," he said at last, "We have our orders. Now move!"

Inwardly he hoped he was doing the right thing.

***

Jeod remained at his sister's side, dabbing poultices and whatever she needed on her horrible wounds. The sun had risen and fallen since her arrival, and she was little better. Twice the sheer pain had nearly awoken her, screaming and vomiting bile and blood. Germaine worked next to him, face grave.

Finally, Germaine sat back. "There is nothing more we can do. The rest is up to her."

Jeod took a long breath and placed the jar of ointment down. "Even this is more than I had hoped for. Oh Maris, what happened? Why would he do this to you?"

Martin stared at the otter. "You know who did this?"

"Fairly certain. We were enslaved by an alliance of vermin, yet it was Redeye who brought myself, Gammage, and Maris down. Unless he was killed or defeated in battle, he would never give them up. He was always proud of the fact that he brought us down almost single-pawed. Something must have happened to change his mind."

"What happened to Kay?"

"He was given to Vilu Daskar. I don't understand it- Vilu Daskar could have asked for the ship or for the slaves as his share, but he and Zounzdican, fought over Kay."

"Vilu Daskar?" Martin asked.

The otter looked at him and nodded. "He's dead, isn't he?" Jeod said after a moment.

"The Goreleech was sunk by my father onto the tall rocks. The only survivors were members of my tribe and a few of my father's friends." Jeod said nothing. "I'm sorry."

"Did he die well?" he inquired at last, voice breaking, "Did he die like a Galedeep?"

Martin nodded. "Yes, he did," he promised, "He died with honour."

Jeod sighed, and bowed his head. "That, alone, is all I could hope for."

***

Crow grumbled as she walked along the sand. Why was she always chosen to hunt? Probably cause she was a girl.

She came over the dune and froze. A young mouse was walking on the shore, alone. An easy target. A prisoner would be useful.

Crow smiled and loaded her sling. The simplest shot she ever had. Careful aim. Just a slight clipping on the side of the head. That was all it would take . . .

She released the stone, just as he bent over to pick up a stick. The stone whistled over his head, and he looked up and saw her. He straightened and gave a shout. He had a pair of lungs like a bellows!

He run, but she gave chase. She had longer legs and was faster and easily overtook him. She knocked him over and held him down, drawing her dagger. "Where are the others?" she asked with a snarl.

He spit in her face and began to struggle. She gripped the dagger and without the slightest hesitation sliced his left ear off. Blood sprayed as he screamed unintelligibly.

A shout of fury was all she had to warn her.

Then he was upon her. Like a raging storm, he crackled with energy and roared with power, sweeping all away in his path. She struck at him with her dagger, yet it had about as much effect as a grain of sand against a mighty wind.

He grabbed her by the throat and pulled her up off the ground so she looked into his dark eyes. Brown, wide with fear, and grey with rage stared at each other for an instant.

"Keyla, no!"

Too late. One swift twist was all it took.

Tullgrew stared in horror as Keyla's muscles rippled, accompanied by a horrible crunch. The vermin dropped lifeless from his paws, almost in slow motion. "Keyla?" she asked uncertainly. He turned to her, eyes still dark with fury. She backed away from him as he approached her. "Keyla, it's me! Tullgrew!"

The darkness faded from his eyes. He lowered his head, breathing heavily, and when he raised his eyes there was puzzlement. "Wha- what happened?"

She stared at him, unsure what to say. Indeed, what could she say? She didn't even know if he could help it or not when he went . . . insane? Was that the word? As long as I don't say it to his face,, she thought.

"Tullgrew, get back to camp, I think it's that way but you'll have to follow Brome's footprints."

"Maybe I should stay with you," she prompted.

"But Brome needs attention now. If you get to camp before me, they can have all the supplies ready and waiting."

"What if you're attacked again?" she tested.

Clearly he had not thought of this. "That's the last thing we need- a fight," he muttered, "I'd have to stop, and I don't think I can hold him stable and run at the same time, not to mention I'd be leading it to the camp . . ." He sighed in frustration, while Tullgrew decided not to point out the irony of the situation by not looking at the corpse. "We don't have time for this. Let's just go and deal with whatever comes our way."

He seemed fine. She gritted her teeth. Keyla... what's happening to you?

***

The Long Patrol had bedded down for the night, bedding arranged in precise, neat rows. Not wanting to risk any of Salamandastron's leverets- under assurance from Skarlath that Swartt was no where in the area, hence unable to attack- only seasoned warriors had been sent to aid Noonvale's plight. Lawdrel Nightshade looked with a hint of lonliness onto the spartan furnishings.

"What's botherin' you, Lawd ol' chap?" Jules knew his friend well- better than a brother.

Lawd smiled wanly. "I was just wonderin' what the new recuits are up to. We could use some of that."

Jules grinned widely. "Half of 'em are on dish duty, and the other half's cleanin' the forge. Don't worry about them, Lawd me matey, they're fine!"

A commotion from the far end got their attention. The two looked at each other and got up from their seats, appoaching the scene of the consternation.

"Oh, I'm a flippin' grub swiper, eh? You're a flippin' old fart!"

"I say! That remark-"

"Hold it!" The hares fell silent as their leader stepped into the mess, closely followed by his lieutenant. "And what, I say, is going on here, hmm?"

The cook, who had been referred to as 'a flippin' old fart,' was not in the best of moods. "An entire wedge of cheese has vanished from the packs, as well as three loaves of bread! And Bertey took them!" she accused.

Bertey, a fat hare known for swiping grub, protested vehemently. "I say, I did not! I don't even like cheese, wot wot!"

Unnoticed in the commotion, Lawd heard a soft rustle from the bushes. He whipped his head around, cocking his ears. He could hear the sound of munching- the sound one makes when gnawing hungrily on bread. He slipped away and circled around behind the noise. He waited one second, then two, then pounced.

"Owwch! Geroff, you rotter! Bounder! Cad! Hellllp! I'm being murdered!" The Long Patrol hares watched in fascination as the the true culprit was dragged from the bushes by his ear. It was a young leveret, no more than ten seasons old. None of the Long Patrol had ever laid eyes on him before, but it was plain from his bony frame and ragged clothes that he was an orphan. "Please don't kill me!" he cried, "I'm tough and stringy! You don't want to eat me!"

Some of the hares burst into laughter at the situation, but Jules silenced them with a glare. "No one's going to eat you, old chap! Though if you wanted some of our grub, you jolly well should have asked instead of sneaking around like a flippin' weasel, eh, wot wot!"

The leveret looked up in surprise. "Y-you're not going to kill me?" he asked in astonishment.

"Course not! Come on, eh, you got a name?"

The leveret cocked his head in puzzlement, but before he could answer, the cook took over. "You poor thing! Half starved you are! Come along, Auntie Cooky's going to fix that right now!" She eyed the hares standing aroung looking at her. "Don't just stand there! Scout ahead or something! Sorry to blame you, Bertey. Come along, now!" They made an exit with laughter ringing in their ears.

Jules looked after the young hare thoughtfully. "Hmm, nice long arms, good eye-hand coordination... I wonder..."

"You thinking of taking on an apprentice at last, mate?" Lawd asked.

"We'll see," Jules returned cryptically.

***

The pine marten rolled out the aerial map, created with the aid of a vulture, paid with the corpses of the dead that had fallen in the battles. Her eyes roved the map, slowly and decisively. She marked with her claws the weak points of the wall, determined by its overall shape. She looked to the sky and smiled grimly. A red sun rose.

Blood would be spilled that night.

***

"The bleeding won't stop!" Keyla muttered as he held a dockleaf to the stump of Brome's ear. Stupid stupid, should have been there...

Tullgrew handed her comrade some bandages, watching him closely. No sign that anything was out of the ordinary. And yet, the memory of his eyes, hard, angry, and ruthless as he looked back at her, a dead vermin clutched in his paws haunted her, and she shivered.

"Hurr, zurr Keyla, let me troi." The young otter gave his care over to Brome, watching closely as the mole expertly stopped the bleeding. He grinned sheepishly.

"Guess I still 'ave a lot to learn, eh?"

Brome smiled. "It's not that hard once you get the hang of it. It is an awful lot to remember, though." He winced and his paw started toward the stump. "Ouch."

"I better take watch tonight," Keyla said, face flushed with guilt, "Where there's one vermin, there might be more."

"No, I'll do it," Tullgrew volunteered.

Keyla looked at her in surprise. "But Tullgrew-"

"No buts, you've taken watch every day for the past week!"

He opened his mouth to protest, but Brome took the female's side. "She's right, Kay- you need rest." The name had slipped out of him, he did not know where it came from. Whatever the intention, it had a profound effect on the young otter.

Keyla flinched backwards, eyes wide, chest heaving. Tullgrew noticed his claws come out, digging into his paw and ripping fresh scabs off as blood flowed from his paw. The otter stood after a moment, shuddering. "Never call me Kay," he said, slowly, with an unusual presence in his voice. Then he turned and was gone, walking towards the water swiftly as his paws could carry him.

"Keyla, wait!" Brome called, but his friend slid into the water, vanishing like a vapour in the wind. Regret shone in the mouse's eyes, though he had done nothing wrong. He went to stand, but Tullgrew placed a firm paw on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't be moving with that ear. He's not angry with you. Something's wrong... he's never acted like this before..." her eyes widened. "Except..."

She stood and followed him, calling his name.

She found him standing on a rocky outcropping, facing the moon away from her. She hovered, unsure what to say, when he spoke first. "You know me too well.'

"Keyla... the nightmares... why didn't you tell me they were coming back?"

"I didn't want you to worry-"

"Keyla, don't give me that! Anything that happens on this quest affects us all! Failure means death, you know that as well as I!"

"Nightmares aren't going to show us how to get to the Abbey. Nightmares can't hurt you. I'm just being selfish." As usual, he though gloomily.

She stepped until she was close behind him. He turned, not knowing how close she was, and nearly stumbled back in surprise. The moon shone out onto her softly, gentle eyes sparkling. She placed a paw on his chest. "But they tear you apart in there," she said in a low undertone, "To the point where you can't stand to sleep, don't they? I know what you're thinking. Brome's injury wasn't your fault. Neither was Rose's death, or Martin's leaving, or the attack. You had nothing to do with it."

He sighed. "You're right- as usual." Thank you. They stood awkwardly, unsure what to say. Tullgrew hesitated a moment and began to slip her paw into his, but met something warm and wet with a metallic stink. Blood... from his claws! He pulled away, looking at his bloodied paw in the moonlight as if seeing it for the first time.

She tore a strip off her skirt and bound the wound, the pale blue cloth shining almost white in the moonlight, slowly darkening as his blood spread onto it. Still, nothing passed between them.

"Better go apologize to Brome," the young otter said after a moment, "I was too harsh with him."

She nodded and wordlessly followed him.

***

"Too quiet... it's too quiet."

The badger nodded, looking to the sky. "Something's not right. Set dou-"

It was then that flaming arrows hit. They came from the foilage like flashes of death, taking the life of anybeast unfortunate enough to get in its way.

"Water! Get water! Archers, shoot back!" Barkjon ordered, nimbly swinging up onto the ramparts. His agility was unsullied by age.

The flaming arrows were excellent cover for the battering rams that were led out of the trees towards Noonvale. Ballaw barked out a laugh. "Battering rams, wot wot? Are the blighters insane or just stupid? We don't even have a door!"

Rowanoak dodged a missile. "But the wall is made of entwined tree trunks, not stone. That ram is solid oak and tipped with metal. If she finds the right place in the wall, it'll come down like a house of sticks!"

"So then, old girl, what do you suggest we do?" the hare asked as he dodged an arrow.

Barkjon gave his idea as the rams loomed closer.