Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall

A/N: This story was originally written for and posted on my Tumblr blog, RedwallThoughts. The italics are taken from the first post I made musing about what might have happened if things had turned out differently in Taggerung. The non-italics are the story that I developed afterward.


Imagine if Tagg was able to lead the Juskarath with compassion rather than fear, so when he took in a wandering mouse the clanbeasts didn't question it, just continued on with life.

Winter had been hard, but bearable. Between the few rations they had saved from summer, and the fish Tagg caught in the ice-covered rivers, the Juskarath hadn't needed to constantly worry about food. While they had not feasted each night, they had survived with mostly-full bellies and warm fires in the caves.

Now, with the snow melting and the days growing longer, they discovered something else. The land around the cave was fertile and full of wild, edible plants. Grissoul was overjoyed to discover healthy beds of many of the herbs she used growing nearby. By the beginning of summer, the clan had already began to harvest the fruits of the land, and had even managed to wrestle a few of the plants into something that resembled a garden.

Taggs leadership was certain now. True, Antigra still had not forgiven him for his unintentional role in the death of her husband, but the rest of the clan had decided that having Tagg for a chief was possibly the best thing that had happened in a long time.

Tagg still went wandering from time to time, sometimes disappearing from camp for days on end, only to return with some rare plant for Grissoul, or the fruits of a successful hunting trip. When he returned to the camp one evening, his trip cut short by a full five days, the clan knew something was amiss. Tagg hurried to find Grissoul, placing before her the shivering form of a harvest mouse.

"Can you heal him?" was the only thing Tagg said.

Grissoul almost refused. Had the request come from Sawney Rath, or Sawney's father, she surely would have said no. But Tagg had brought plenty to the clan, sacrificing his own needs to ensure others would not go hungry, so for him she agreed.

"I can try."

Felch was sent to gather fresh herbs, while Eefera was told to bring as much water as he could carry. For four long days and nights, Grissoul tended to the harvest mouse, using all her knowledge of woodland remedies to defeat the fever that ravaged his small body. Tagg did not leave his side. When the mouse woke, tired and weak, on the fifth day, they learned his name.

"Nimbalo," he told them.

Grissoul shooed the onlookers away before they could ask more questions, saying rest was the best cure for the mouse now. Tagg was relieved to know that Nimbalo would live. Day by day, as Nimbalo grew stronger, Tagg began to return to his habitual trips. Leaving the clan under the watchful eye of Grissoul, he would venture out with a small, handpicked band to forage or fish further afield. By mid-summer, Nimbalo was fully recovered. Working alongside the clan in the garden and playing a reed flute in the evenings, he was readily welcomed. With his tall tales he made the clanbeasts laugh until they cried, and taught them a few of the songs he had learned during his travels. Tagg did not have to worry that the clanbeasts would harm the mouse. For though he did not wear the tattoos of the clan, Nimbalo had become as much a part of the tribe as Tagg himself.