It was a midsummer day, and Merrill was stricken with a grandmotherly urge to search for jam berries- after airing the sheets and taking a walk, of course- so Tamar helped her pack a parcel of lunch and put on her traveling shawl, and the two headed out into Mossflower.
The sun leaked between the leaves and watered the bright clumps of bluebells, foxgloves, and grass. It left bright splotches on shadowy Mossflower woods and the winding dirt road through it, and Merrill's cane clicked cheerily against the pebbles while she trotted down the path.
As always, Merrill took the lead. She could barely see distinct figures past the end of her cane, but she trotted down the road in a bundle of weaving happiness. She constantly almost veered into a tree or missed a curve in the path, but at the last second, she swerved and went on her merry way.
Tamar walked behind her, carrying both of their bags and listening to his grandmother ramble about tart recipes. It was easier to walk behind grandmother. It gave him more room to stretch his legs without fear of her tripping over his tail. Tamar didn't try to stop her or correct her path. Merrill knew where she was going, and it was useless to interfere with forces of nature.
Besides that, Tamar had discovered that woodlanders were a little less paranoid when he walked behind Merrill. They always seemed to believe he was kidnapping her whenever she walked behind him, or noticed him first, and went straight to their threatening and screeching routine. If he walked too far behind her they believed he was stalking her. A big, menacing rat following an elderly mouse to attack her for her jar of jam and other precious possessions, as one did.
But Tamar was aware of which one of them was immortal, and far better armed, so he allowed his grandmother to traipse in front of him while he relaxed in the sun and loped down the path behind her.
"Tamar, do you have the jam jars and scones wrapped up?"
"Yes, grandma."
"Good." Merrill balanced her spectacles. "Those are very important. If any of those were to break, we'd lose all the jam into the satchel, and it'd leak all over the bag and the scones and make a mess to Salamandastron come. The scones might be edible, but the bag isn't, and you know what we have to say about messy bags."
"They're intolerable, grandma," Tamar said. "If you make the mess, you have to clean it up, even if it means eating the jam right out of your bag."
Merrill gave a fond tap of her cane as she narrowly avoided running into a tree.
"Absolutely," she said. "I can't bear beasts not cleaning up after themselves. You can make all the mess you want, gracious, I won't stop you, but you had better clean it up."
The path was growing steeper and more bumpy, and Tamar noticed Merrill slowing and wheezing. He stopped and put a paw on her shoulder.
"Grandma, you're getting tired. Why don't I carry you?"
"Oh, thank you, dear," Merrill said, and Tamar scooped her up. Merrill was lighter than either of their bags, and she made herself comfortable on her grandson's shoulders before he resumed walking. "I'm not nearly as young as I used to be. I used to chase after all the otter and shrew babes in the holt camp to keep them in line from dusk 'til dawn, and now all it takes is a brisk jaunt to crimp my step. I feel so silly."
"You aren't silly, grandma." Tamar climbed the slope. He ignored the nettles stinging his tail and feet. He had thick skin. They didn't bother him.
Merrill was trying to flatten her grandson's scruffy headfur when they rounded a corner, and Tamar heard the sounds of voices. He immediately felt wary, and his concern doubled tenfold when he heard the posh accents and military lingo. This was bad for him. Hares did not like rats, or any vermin, point. Merrill chattered while she brushed at his fur and gently chastised him for not keeping it in order.
Even as the hares neared, Tamar braced himself and strode on. This was the path to where Grandmother Merrill wanted to go, and he wouldn't deviate from it. He as much of a right as woodlanders to be on it- a half right, once he considered all the yelling and sling stones that would dock it- but it was still a right. Tamar was carrying his grandmother, and if they wanted him to leave, they would have to force her off the path too.
And if the hares wanted to tangle with an undefeated force of nature, they could.
Merrill was discussing baking when the hares appeared.
"Our first batch of gooseberries will be ready to pick in a few weeks, and we ought to get the baskets ready. They'll be sour, but they'll be fit to go into a wine, and we can get started on the pies if you'll mind your paws, Tamar, since you pricked them up too much last time to crimp the pies properly- oh! Hello!" Merrill's eyesight detected the two blobs moving down the road, and she beamed. The hares froze and gawked. "Good day, travelers. How are you?"
Tamar didn't think the hares were going to recover in time to reply.
"Good day, m'am," one finally forced out. He was the shorter of the duo, and Tamar didn't know how he was still on his feet. A puff of fur stuck up between his ears. Several shiny pins stretched across his coat. "We're- fine, wot."
Merrill turned her gaze on the other hare.
"And how are you?" she said.
The second hare, the taller and thicker of the two, had yet to reclaim his tongue. Tamar believed his eyes were going to pop out and fall onto the path if he kept that expression. He had a jar to collect them, if needed.
"I think he's doing well, grandma," Tamar said. The taller hare reached over and closed his shorter friend's jaw.
Both of the hares were young, and Tamar was surprised they hadn't bounced off the road or frozen permanently out of shock. Both looks would have suited them.
"I would hope so," Merrill said, and the hare finally found his tongue.
"I'm doin' spiffin', m'am, wot," he said. He sounded dazed. "What about you?"
"Lovely," Merrill said, in the charmed way all grandmothers did. She tapped her cane against her grandson's scruffy breast. "The travelers asked a question, grandson. How are you?"
"Wonderful," Tamar said. "I'm enjoying the weather."
One of the hares made a choking noise. Tamar couldn't tell who. He kept his usual expression.
"So, m'am," the shorter hare said, still sounding dazed, "I see you're travelin', wot, but your name is…?"
"I forgot to introduce myself. How rude. Well, if you'll pardon me, my name is Merrill," Merrill said. "Some beasts use m'am or marm, but just Merrill is fine if you want."
"Right." The shorter hare's eyes roved to Tamar. "So you're Merrill. But-"
"And now that I've finished my introduction, what're your names?" Merrill said. "Don't allow me to steal the conversation. You two sound like a fine pair."
"Oh. My name is Brigsbery, Brigs for short, wot," the shorter hare said. "And this chap is Flandin. We're members of the Long Patrol."
"Nice to meet you, wot," said Flandin, who did not look recovered.
"The same goes to you," Merrill said. "You two have charming names. Not the long mouthful most hare names are, but still very much Salamandastron. You don't have to worry about being a XIIV or a VII or keeping things straight at a reunion, and that's far easier, don't you think? It's hard enough to keep track of everyone at a reunion to start with, or so I've heard."
"Jolly well right, m'am," Brigs said. He looked at Tamar. "But who-" He cleared his throat when he saw Merrill's questioning look. "His name is…?" Brigs gestured at Tamar.
"That's my grandson, Tamar," Merrill said. She beamed. "You don't sound much older than him. You haven't been in the Long Patrol too long, have you?"
"Your grandson?" Flandin said.
"Not more than two seasons, I imagine- why yes, my grandson," Merrill said. She patted at the untamable scruff on Tamar's head. It instantly popped back up. "Tamar, dear, put me down so I can greet these young 'uns properly. It's hard to be social sitting up here."
Tamar put Merrill down. She straightened her shawls and steadied herself. Her spectacles stayed balanced.
The instant Tamar set Merrill down and she had moved away, Brigs lunged with lightning speed. Tamar was looking at Merrill's shawl one instant before he was struck harder than ever before in his life. Pain slammed through his skull, the world spun, and Tamar hit the ground. His ears were ringing. When he pushed himself up on his knees, the colors around him were still spinning, and he could feel glass jars clinking around in the bags on his back.
"Got him! Flandin, keep the old lady back over there. We don't know what the vermin was plannin' or what he's told her, and better safe than sorry. Captain Yorick is goin' to have a bally fit over this when he shows up. Nasty lookin' blighter this one is, wot."
"He looks like he's just crawled out of a pit. With those nasty ragged ears and that set of chompers, I wouldn't want him anywhere near me, wot. We're lucky we got here soon. Gates knows what he would have done."
"What's going on?"
"Don't worry, m'am," Flandin reassured Merrill as Tamar slowly staggered to his feet, "you're safe now. We've got control of things."
"Tamar? Are you alright?" Merrill said. Tamar couldn't answer her over the pain throbbing in his cheek.
"I socked him," Brigs said with no small amount of pride. "Nailed him right in the jaw, wot."
Whack.
Brigs yelped with pain as Merrill hit him with her cane. He danced away, waving his smarting paw.
"Merrill, m'am, calm down!"
"She got me!" Brigs said, wringing his paw. "Bally Dark Forest Gates!"
Whack.
"Ow!" Brigs squeaked and pulled back when Merrill smacked him in the shin with her cane. He grabbed his ankle, bouncing on one foot. Merrill's next cane swing barely missed them both. "Bloody garterguts, Flandin, she's lost all her marbles and buttons to boot, wot! She's tryin' to wallop me!"
"How dare you!" Merrill said. Tamar recovered, but he choose to sit down and watch as Merrill began assailing Brigs and Flandin with her cane, mainly Brigs. Despite being blind, most of her cane blows struck home, and the hare was hard pressed to keep his shins, wrist, ears, and nose untouched.
"How dare you hit my grandson! Since when do travelers, especially young hares, attack other travelers? And unprovoked! If your parents were present, I'd give both of your ears a wringing, and remind you of what proper manners are!"
"M'am, he's a vermin! Ow!" Brigs stumbled back when one of Merrill's blows hit his ear. He grabbed it, pulling the tender ear down with watery eyes. "Flan, help me!"
"Miss, calm down!" Flandin said. He grabbed Merrill from behind to halt her swinging cane, but was almost clipped in the nose himself. "He's not the one you should be hittin', wot, we were tryin' to help you!"
"You should apologize to my grandson immediately, you ruffians! I thought I had met two pleasant young folk his age, but you both act like shameless delinquents. First you hit him, and then you insult him? For shame!"
"You should let go of her," Tamar said. Flandin ignored him. He received a smart tap on the nose for it.
"Eep!"
"Tamar?" Merrill said. She halted her assault, and Flandin helped Brigs up while he gingerly nursed his nose. Merrill returned to Tamar and began checking him over, reaching for all the wrong places. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, grandma," Tamar said. His jaw ached, but he had regained his senses, and Merrill's wiry paw felt over the cheek opposite the one that had been socked. "I'm fine."
While Merrill finished worrying over Tamar, the hares returned to gawking, goggle-eyed. Tamar was mildly concerned Brigs' expression was going to stick that way. Flandin already looked stuck.
"You really don't see anything bally strange about this?" Flandin burst out.
"The primroses are blooming late," Tamar said. Merrill huffed.
Brigs and Flandin gaped.
At that moment, the sound of marching feet filled the air. None of the group had time to move before they were surrounded by hares. A singular hare with pepper-flecked fur and an array of shiny badges greater than Brigs' stepped out onto the path. He was older than both of them, and he walked with an authoritative spring in his step. Tamar instantly knew he was more important. Hares were like magpies: the more shiny pieces they collected, the better, and they were always ready to fight over them.
"What's going on, wot?" he said. His eyes swept over Tamar and Merrill, and the sore Brigs and Flandin. He did a doubletake at Tamar.
Before any of the hares could stir, Merrill perked up. Tamar saw her spectacles quiver on her nose.
"Are you the leader of this party?" she said.
The hare's gaze flew back to Merrill.
"Why yes, m'am, I am," he said. He stood taller. The badges on his chest gleamed. "Captain Yorick of the Third Division of the Long Patrol, wot."
Merrill shot off like a firecracker.
"You should be ashamed," she said, and the scorn in her voice took Captain Yorick aback.
"I'm sorry?"
"These two mannerless brutes, part of your group, assaulted my grandson! We were merely taking a stroll," Merrill said, and all eyes went to Tamar, "when, without warning, they struck him! Furthermore, they refused to apologize, and when I told them off, they promptly added insult on top of injury on my poor son."
"With all due respect, I don't think that's your grandson, wot," Colonel Yorick said. Tamar could feel the hare eyeing him. He stared back. Woodlanders weren't as intimidating as they thought they were. "Brigsbery and Flandin are part of my group, yes. If they behaved roughly around you I'll take care of them, wot. But I don't blame Brigs for lashin' out. I would have too, if I saw a kindly old lady like you bein' followed by a bloomin'-"
"And now the Captain!" Merrill said. Tamar sat back and relaxed. "First your two ill-behaved rogues insult my grandson, and now you? Appalling. The illness is spreading. First, it was Skipper and Logalog, and now, a Captain of the blessed Long Patrol. Do you usually allow members to attack innocent residents of Mossflower out for a stroll without thinking, and without apologizing? Or has that been a recent habit?"
"Not at all. It never has been. I'm sorry," Captain Yorick said, stunned, and the entire Patrol squirmed in discomfort. Their bravado and previous cockiness was fading.
"We didn't mean it that way," Flandin said. Brigs was still rubbing his ear.
"Watch out, sah. She can swing that cane like she's Russano the second."
"You didn't mean it that way? Then why did you attack?" Merrill turned to the entire contingent. Though she was half blind, she waved her cane up and down the ranks and began scolding all of them. "More than anything, I'm ashamed that the Long Patrol, of all things- the representatives of Salamandastron and valiency, of well-behaved might and bravery, supposed to be here to protect us- were reduced to nothing but highway bullies since the last time I looked. "
"It is horrible, grandma," Tamar said. Captain Yorick and the patrol shrank further.
"I can't imagine what their parents would think, what their grandparents would think. And now, they're ringed around my grandson and I like a gang, keeping us from continuing on our way. Some patrol!"
The last words were a final blow. All the hares flinched. Captain Yorick slunk forward to offer an apology while the other patrol members finished dissolving their circle. Merrill adjusted her spectacles.
"M'am, I'm truly sorry," he said. Other murmurs of apology followed from the patrol. "We didn't mean to halt or injure you or grandson in any way. " He glared at Brigs and Flandin, but they didn't need any prompting.
"I'm sorry for the trouble, m'am, wot."
"Dreadfully sorry." Brigs turned to Tamar. "Sorry about sockin' you, sah. I wasn't thinkin', wot. It won't happen again."
"If there's anything to make up for it or the trouble we've caused you, we will," Captain Yorick said. He was the image of sheepish humility.
"No, I believe you've helped enough, thank you," Merrill said. She waved at Tamar. "Tamar, dear, get out my other shawl. I'm cold from disappointment."
Tamar almost grinned when he draped the shawl over her shoulders and the hares shrank. Pain was still throbbing through his cheek, but it was worth it.
"Now, we have berries to pick and an outing to finish," Merrill said, swinging her cane and walking on. Tamar pulled up the packs on his back and followed after her. The hares stayed behind, and Tamar kept a straight face as he and his grandmother passed them all and moved right past Captain Yorick, Flandin, and Brigs.
"Apology accepted," Tamar said. Captain Yorick gave a quiet wheeze. Brigs, Tamar thought, needed Flandin's help to close his mouth again.
He didn't look back as he followed a grumbling, head-shaking Merrill down the path towards the berry bushes. The hares' eyes followed them until they turned a corner, and even then, Tamar could still feel their staring falling on the bushes at the bend. Dappled sunlight fell over them all.
"Unbelievable," Merrill said. "Everywhere I look, it seems like beasts have forgotten themselves and their manners. Grandson, I hope you'll never be so rude to someone."
"Never, grandma."
"Good." Merrill hummed in approval. Tamar stepped over a pebble and mulled over a thought.
He had never been called 'sir' before.