Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining or included in the Redwall series of books. I do own Bandit and his family, as well as other original characters.

Author's Notes: Thank you, as always, to all of you who reviewed. A special thanks to Snowygrin for her continued support.

The sun sank beyond the horizon, painting the trees in hues of orange, gold, and red. On any other night it would have seemed beautiful. But not tonight. Tonight it made the pit of Bandit's stomach sink to his toes. It wouldn't be but a few minutes before they ate supper. And after supper… He dared not even think about it too hard, lest he start to feel queasy.

From his position on his small cot bed, in the far corner of a cluttered storage room at the back of the cottage, he could hear the scrape and clatter of the tableware being set on the table.

Sighing with resignation, he stood, ready to go to supper. He normally wouldn't bother attending the actual meal, save if they had company. His parents, no matter how much they failed to acknowledge him, liked the outward appearance of their family to be whole and complete. If it was brought to their attention by the guest that he wasn't present, they would make sure to send Fleck to find him and drag him to the table. And woe betide him if he struggled, or made any appearance of trouble in front of the guests. He already got a good thump from Fleck every time anyway. And even though his presence wasn't required, or would even be noticed by his parents this time, he knew that if he didn't show up, he would pay for it later on. Angel would want to keep her eye on him to make sure he behaved.

Slowly, he dragged his feet through his so-called 'home', until he entered their small kitchen. Sparse in its comforts, it was a room where his mother spent a lot of her time. Either she was trying out some new recipe, or she was sitting at the small kitchen table drying herbs from their tiny garden. Being purely of a clinical mind, however, she had no personal touches scattered about the place, as the mother in Bandit's imagination always did. His imaginary mother would have a vase of flowers on the sill, a bowl full of tasty treats she had baked for her children to nibble on, and a smell of warm dough and seedcakes would waft around her. Instead the kitchen smelt of dry spices and the lingering scent of roasted meats.

Already seated at the table were Fleck and Angel, both looking as though butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. The perfect picture of well-behaved older siblings. 'Yeah right' Bandit inwardly snorted to himself. His mother, tall and dark-furred, was placing a steaming tureen of stew in the centre of the table. His father sat at the head of the table, as always, rubbing his paws in anticipation of the meal to come. Bandit moved silently to the tiny shelf in the corner of the room that held his plate and utensils. Hopping onto his stool, he waited patiently as his mother served the stew to the rest of the family. All the while he watched Angel closely. Outwardly she appeared as innocent and polite as ever, but he could tell that she was still planning for their outing after the meal. His attention snapped back to the meal as some stew was sloppily ladled into his bowl. He blinked up at his mother who had already turned away from him placing the empty tureen on the counter. She must have made too much stew. Ordinarily he would have to wait till the others had started eating before he could scrounge the kitchen for scraps of the meal. The only time she served him anything was when they had company. He shrugged mentally. It must have been automatic, considering he was sitting at the table with them.

Picking up his spoon, he began to eat, flicking looks at his sister throughout the meal. He remained silent, not willing to draw any more attention to himself than he had already received, whilst the family chatted around him. Fleck told his father of the wrestling contests he had won that morning, besting their nearest neighbours son Barrow, despite the weasel being a whole season older than he was. Angel spoke softly with their mother, commenting on the food and asking how her day had been. Far too soon for Bandit's liking, the meal came to a close.

Tarclaw placed his paws flat on the table, as he always did before he left after eating. "A fine meal Selky, my dear. I'll be gone for most of the evening. I have business to see to. All of you have a good night."

Fleck and their mother uttered brief goodbyes and good lucks. Bandit, of course, said nothing, as the pleasantries had not been meant for him anyway. Angel nodded to Tarclaw, as he stood from the table. At this point she grabbed Bandit by the wrist and dragged him out of the kitchen and down the hall to her own room. Pushing him inside, she shut the door and began rummaging under her bed. "What are you doing?" Bandit questioned her. "I thought we were following him?"

"We are. But I'd have to be as idiotic as you to try and follow without trying to make myself less visible." She pulled out two bundles of cloth. "Here. Put it on and stop asking stupid questions."

Bandit held up the cloth, and it unfurled to reveal an inky black cloak. Suddenly comprehending just exactly how long Angel had been planning this escapade, and how much effort she had put into making it go as she wanted it to, he slid the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the clasp. Pulling up the hood, he waited as his sister looked out of the window, before asking tentatively. "Is he leaving yet?"

"No, not yet… wait… Now! Come on, let's go."

Angel slid up her own Hood, as she opened her window and jumped out, followed by Bandit. Peering around in the dark, he whispered. "Won't they notice if you're gone?"

"Don't you think I thought of that?" She hissed back at him, as she pushed aside a low hanging branch. "Fleck never does anything after a supper like that. He crashes out and will sleep till morning. And mother will be concentrating on her herb drying racks for a good while. I sometimes go for night walks, so even if she does look in on my room, she will think I have merely gone to get some air. Now shut up and come along."

Chastised, Bandit followed her through the night, as they trailed their father who seemed to be wandering aimlessly through the wood, with no destination in mind. Bandit knew where he was supposed to be going, but this was in the opposite direction. What was his father doing?

Finally, after hours had seemingly gone by, Tarclaw took a quick glance around him, scanning the trees. Angel pushed Bandit behind a tree before they could be spotted. Satisfied that he was unseen by any creature he knew of, he slipped into the bushes and started to backtrack the way he had come, heading towards the direction of the large rock.

"Finally." Angel muttered. "I thought he'd never stop trying to play it safe."

Bandit knew better than to speak. Silently they continued their pursuit, even more cautious now that Tarclaw was being so silent himself.

Soon enough they reached the white rock that lay near the oak tree that was their intended goal. It remained just as Bandit remembered it. The rock, a boulder roughly shoulder height to Tarclaw, was

a large marker stone. Many etchings had been scratched into its surface over the seasons. In some places childish hands had scrawled mottos or names, in other places declarations of devotion or love to another creature. Bandit knew the exact spot where he himself had marked the stone with his name. Small and crude though it was, he was proud to have put it there. Using his free hours, he scratched it into the rock using a piece of rough edged flint he had found laying near an abandoned campfire pit. It had taken dedication and patience, but he had achieved it. In fact it was the very day that he finished his work when he met his first friends in the squirrel twins.

The memory of finding his friends, only to lose them within a matter of a few hours was incredibly painful. Even though he had resigned himself to the fact that nobody seemed to like ferrets very much, and him in particular, he still hoped for the day when he would find someone to make him feel like he was wanted, not just put up with. Shaking his head to dispel his thoughts, he focused back onto his father, who was currently standing next to the white rock, looking to the East, towards the great oak.

Barely another second had gone by, when Tarclaw darted to the trees and slinked his way towards his goal, keeping low to the ground. At that point both he and Angel found it a lot harder to follow him. They had to make sure to keep him in sight, which was difficult enough, but keep silent at the same time. Bandit felt a tinge of pride, however, in noting that he found it a lot easier going than his sister did. Even though the distance was relatively short, due to the weaving and slinking they had to do, it took them a few minutes to reach the small hut by the side of the enormous oak tree known to everyone in this part of the wood as the great oak. Standing under the outspread branches of the magnificent tree was a small hut.

The place was small, barely over half the size of their own home. It was made of wooden slats nailed together to form the walls, with crude wooden shutters covering the windows. Whoever lived inside, they were obviously quite poor. Tarclaw took one last look around before edging towards the hut. From a small pouch slung over his shoulder he plucked a small metal device, which he promptly began to use on the door of the hut, sliding it between the frame and the body of the Obstructive barrier , wiggling it around until he seemed satisfied with its placement. Then, with a sharp smack to the end of the tool sticking out, he flipped the latch that was keeping the door closed from the inside. Silently he placed the metallic implement back into the pouch and gently eased the door open so that it made no sound. Slipping through the gap, he disappeared inside.

Angel grabbed hold of Bandit's arm in a vice-like grip. "Come on, let's get closer."

"Why do we need to? We can't go in after him."

"No, dufus, but we can listen in through the shutters. You take the right side, I'll take the left. If you hear him, stay with him and I'll come find you, if I hear him I'll do the same and you find me."

Reluctantly, Bandit slinked to the hut and slid along the side of the house to the nearest window shutter, which was a few steps from the front. Pulling down his hood, he placed his ear to the Wood, he listened intently. There was nothing. No shuffling of paws, no halting of breathing. Moving further along the wall, Bandit tried the second shutter. This time he had better luck.

Inside the room he heard the clinking of metal on metal. There was a click and the sound of someone picking up something that creaked as if made of leather. The sound of more clinking signified that whoever it was that was inside, was now counting coins of some sort. Then he heard a chuckle that was distinctly his father's throaty rumble followed by a whisper. "Perfect."

"What is perfect?" Bandit nearly banged his head on the wall, as he jumped from the sound of that loud unexpected voice. "And who are you, vermin?" That voice sounded strangely familiar to Bandit, as if he had heard it before, but he couldn't quite place where.

His father was quick to reply with a snarky tone in his voice. "You know very well who I am, Firley, and why I'm here."

"Let's see… sneaking into my home in the middle of the night, stealing my hard earned money, arrogant personality and a superior expression on your face… You must have come from that foul, thieving stoat."

Tarclaw made a sound like a snarl. "You dare to talk about 'The Boss' like that? You must be even more stupid than I was told. You hold out on 'The Boss', bad-mouth him in public and now you insult him to me…? I'd say those are the actions of a creature who wants a slow and painful death."

"And I suppose you're here to deliver that?"

"No. I came to collect what is owed, but if it came to it, I'm sure 'The Boss wouldn't object." A jangling of the coin bag. "And this is the monetary portion accounted for, but it doesn't quite meet expectations. So, now I'll collect the other part of the debt, and be on my way."

The other's voice was disbelieving. "Other part of the debt? Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, your high and mightiness, but there is nothing else. You have my entire earnings. So I guess you'll just have to go shorthanded, and tell your precious 'Boss' that he can stuff his debt. I'll pay no more after tonight."

"That's where you're wrong. You have something else that could be useful which would settle this months quota."

"I told you, this is the last time I'll stand by and take this – and what else is there to take? What else could that hooligan possibly want from me?"

At that moment the conversation was blocked out by the slight rustling of the undergrowth next to him. Though quiet, it was enough to block out what his father said next. Annoyed, Bandit dared to glare at his sister, who emerged next to him. She glared back and whispered harshly. "Is he in there?"

Bandit nodded, pressing his ear back to the wood to listen. "Yeah, he's taking money and something else from someone called Firley. They were talking a moment ago." Angel copied his position, and they listened in on the conversation again.

Firley's voice came through clearly, a hiss of indignation and anger colouring his voice. "You honestly think I would let you take him…?"

"Whether you allow me to or not, he is coming with me. 'The Boss' will make good use of him. I can assure you that he'll receive only the best of care if you co-operate, but if you don't… well… there's always need for something to use for target practice."

"How dare you…!" Firley snarled, followed by a clatter as if something had been knocked to the ground. "I'll kill you before I let you touch either one of them!"

"Now now, Firley. No need to get violent. You never were much of a fighter." There was a choking sound as Tarclaw chuckled. "You see, not even able to get in a single blow. Now where is the oldest one?"

"Won't… tell… you…" Firley choked out, spite and rage still colouring his strangled words.

Tarclaw grunted. "Never mind. I can make a pretty good guess."

A loud thump sounded, making the ramshackle boards of the wall shake. Then the footfalls of their father could be heard heading towards the room to the right of the one they were currently listening at. The gasping breaths of the unknown creature by the name of Firley were easily heard as he pounded after Tarclaw. Angel grabbed Bandit by the arm and hissed. "Come on!"

For once not needing to be persuaded, Bandit dashed alongside her to the next room, where they pressed their ears so hard into the boards that it almost hurt. There was a rustling of cloth and then a small squeak that sounded as if muffled by a piece of material. "Hush little kit. Wouldn't want to wake the rest of the family, would you?" Tarclaw's voice was more sneer than comfort. "Just breathe in deep now…"

"Let… him go…" The rasp of Firley's voice was painful to listen to., but they could hear him moving towards where their father must be standing. "I said… let him go!"

There was a scuffle and a loud bump, followed by the cry of a young child. "Daddy!"

Again Bandit felt the rush of familiarity that the voice of Firley had invoked. He shot a look at Angel, who was concentrating with her eyes tight closed, to see if she had experienced the same feeling. Apparently she had not, considering her expression hadn't changed, and her ear was still firmly pressed to the rough grained wood. At that moment there was an almighty bang, as the pair of struggling adults must have impacted the wall. The boards shuddered, and both he and Angel sprang away rubbing their ears to relieve the painful ringing that the sound had caused. "Get out of the house!" Firley was yelling. " Rosehip! Get out of the house, take the children and run!"

Bandit found himself pushed harshly back into the surrounding brush, as a loud commotion overtook the small hut. Banging of doors and the thumps of fighting bodies, along with the cries of the frightened family rang through the air. An extra loud bang issued from the front of the hut, as three figures stumbled hurriedly out of the house. The first was obviously the mother of the family, her bushy tail bristling with her fear as she gathered the two children in front of her, pushing them away from the house.

One of the kits was fighting to get free, to go back to the house. "No, mommy, we've got to help daddy!"

"No Pipkin, we need to run!" The anxious mother grabbed at her squirming son and dragged them both into the woods.

Angel watched their progress into the trees, until another almighty bang drew her attention to the front door once more. Out of it fell the two figures of Firley and Tarclaw, locked in paw-to-paw combat. Tarclaw seemed to have the upper hand, using his greater height and reach to subdue the shorter squirrel. Fearing that this commotion would draw more attention to the area, and thus make it harder for her to escape unseen, she turned to Bandit. "Come on, let's get out of here. Get back to the house and… hey! Are you listening to me?"

But he clearly had heard nothing since the words of the mother squirrel had rung through his ears, echoing over and over. "No Pipkin, we need to run…! No Pipkin… Pipkin… Pipkin…" His eyes were riveted on his father, who had stumbled out of the hut fighting a creature who Bandit clearly recognised, even though they had only met face to face once in his short lifetime. He was the father of his only friends, the very same friends that had been driven into the woods by their mother only seconds before. He ignored Angel's pokes, despite their bruising force. He didn't even react when Firley gave a strangled sound and fell to the dirt, unmoving.

Tarclaw brushed his paws over his dusty clothes and sneered at the still figure at his feet. "Well, seems like 'The Boss' won't have any more trouble from you. I'll soon catch that family of yours and put them to good use. Too bad you'll not be around to see it." Kicking a cloud of dust over the still form, Tarclaw slunk away into the gloom.

Firley didn't stir. Angel grew Impatient with her brother and gave him a sharp shove. "Fine. Stay here and get caught. But tell anyone I was here and you'll wish that was you." She pointed to the deathly still squirrel. With that she turned tail and scampered back through the trees.

Numbly, Bandit approached Firley, his breath held. Gently he touched the shoulder of the fallen form. Half hoping and half dreading that his touch would elicit him to jump to his feet and shout threats. But there was nothing. No movement, not even a breath. Firley was clearly no more. He had left this world for that of the dark forest.

Bandit stood, frozen in his horror. His father was a killer. He had killed this creature and didn't even seem ashamed or sorrowful at the fact. This saddened Bandit, despite the fact that this squirrel had shown him no shred of friendly feeling. He felt a hollow open up in his heart at the realisation that someone who had created him could take away another's life without batting an eyelid.

He was still held in his shocked state when the undergrowth began to rustle, and out from them stepped a familiar bushy tailed figure. Pipkin, obviously having managed to escape his mother's shepherding, had backtracked back to his home and his father. He eyed his fallen parent with horror and disbelief, before his gaze turned to Bandit. "You…"

The sheer hatred contained in that one word brought Bandit to turn to Pipkin, recognising the look of anger and betrayal in the other creature's eyes. "Pipkin I… I don't…"

"Don't." The command was short and sharp. "I hate you. Father was right. All your kind do is hurt others. I hate you!" Pipkin launched himself at Bandit, who could only raise his arms and try to protect himself from the pounding fists of the little squirrel. "I hate you! I thought you were my friend! I thought that you deserved a chance, that you weren't bad. But I was wrong. You were here. You were here and you didn't help! You didn't… didn't…" Pipkin broke down into sobs, falling to his knees by the side of his father and buried his tiny tear-streaked face into Firley's bushy tail. "Daddy…"

Bandit swallowed reflexively, as a painful lump of pressure formed in his throat. He wanted to kneel before Pipkin, grasp hold of his former friend and beg for forgiveness. To cry out his grief, his anger, his hate for what his father had done, for what he had not tried to prevent.

Maybe it was true. Maybe all of his kind were worthy of their reputation as cut-throats and scoundrels. But he wasn't like that. Despite the fact that he felt like the lowest of the low at the moment, he wasn't a killer. Nor did he ever want to be one. Did that mean that there was something wrong with him?

Looking down at Pipkin, who was still sobbing his heart out, Bandit made a decision. If there had to be something wrong with him for him not to want to kill, then he was happy to be that way. If others wouldn't accept him for being what he was, then he would agree to let them have that opinion. But that didn't mean he had to like it, or stick around to watch it happen. Bowing his head he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. "I'm sorry Pipkin. I really am. I hope that you can forgive me one day for all that I failed to do."

With that, Bandit turned, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head once more. With a glance back at the two on the ground, he strode into the woods. Out of the clearing, out of plain sight of any who would come to investigate, and out of his old life. What he was going to do now, or where he should go, Bandit had no clue. One thing was for sure, he wasn't going to let anyone fool him ever again. He would live by his own rules from now on.