Thunder pealed and lightning cracked across a blackened sky. Torrents of icy rain washed down upon Malrock Isle, cloaking it and hiding it from prying eyes. Very few beasts ever found the isle. It lay to the far north, nestled among tall, jagged rocks and ice floes. It was the perfect place for one such as Lord Ardemon Kirsch to call his own. The mink was known for his sadistic temper and dark moods. The inhabitants of this isle, many who had traveled far to the north to escape the warring and oppressive lordships in the south and to carve out their own community of peace had lived many seasons in peace. Until, one fateful winter, the mink Lord took power. He too was searching for a place of his own and found it. He swept in like a dark gale with an army of twenty score rakings and scrapings of the earth. It was not hard to overpower the small tribes on the island, crush them under his iron paw, to do his bidding... or die.
With his new land and newfound slaves, he carved out a fortress from the living rock, a great, dark sentinel to keep watch both on the sea and his lands. The fortress was still under construction in parts, with slaves toiling through wind, sun or rain to build upon it. At the foot of the fortress was a walled village, it was there the many captives lived. One young otter was watching a guard out of the corner of his eye as he toiled in the fields beside his friend, a rangy young squirrel.
"Think they're watchin', mate? That 'un looks like he's 'onna drop any minute. They've got t' see stannin' out 'ere in the rain ain't gonna save the crops. Tis already too late for them." He shook his head at the guards' stupidity. "Ye'd think they 'ad snails fer brains."
"Shurrup there, yew!" a voice rang out. "Oi got me eye on yew. Another peep an' ye'll feel me rod across yer back!"
The young otter lowered his eyes to his task and was quiet until the guard passed, then he rested on his rake, blowing rain out of his eyes.
The male squirrel was silent as he too ran his rake across the dying crops. He glanced toward his friend as he was told to shut up, and the quickly diverted his gaze once more to his task. His amber eyes remained on the ground as he spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Aye, mate. Oi'd say t'ey ar' watchin' us. T'ey don' ev'n turn away fer us to relieve ourselves." Came the robust reply. The rain defluffed his fur, and made his tail look long and skinny. His eyes burned with hatred for the guards, and for the tyrant that caused this grief day after day. It was tiring.
Daenan watched the guards and could tell they were in a hurry to get back to their warm fires and ale
(Chapter to be continued..)