"Can I have this pasty?" Grey pointed at a lone pastry that sat between him, Fret and Sharpfur.

"No! It's mine you greedy glutton!"

"But you just said you were full."

"Then why did you ask?"

They did this every day. The first time Fret had made the mistake of telling them to share. The whole crew had laughed at that joke, and in his shame Fret had been reminded of the feast in Redwall. And thoughts of Redwall made his stomach twirl like a dancer. Three days, they had been sailing for three days. Though it had been four days since the feast.

"Fret, tell Grey that he had the pasty yesterday."

"But you had it yesterday, and the day before that."

Fret tuned them out. The abbey youngsters hated him. They had believed what he had lied to Threeclaw about. That he hated Momchillo, that he had tried to put a knife in him... Hate was such a strong word. He had never liked the mouse to begin with, and was tempted to hit him, especially now, when held back by rope, but Fret doubted he could put a knife in anybeast, and Thornflame's harsh lesson had only confirmed that reality. Unfortunately, the mouse had not been concious at the time.

"Gimme the pasty today and you can have it tommorow."

"You always say that."

"I do not!"

"You said it yesterday, and the day before that..." Greyclaw replied timidly.

"A pasty!" Sharpfur's three little sisters pounced onto it, and in a moment all that was left was a crumb.

"That was mine!" Sharpfur snapped, then Cheesenibbles, his baby brother, bit his little tail. "OW! Owowowow Grey pull him off!" Grey obliged, pulling the smaller weasel off.

"Cheese, Sharpfur isn't edible. Go an' ask ma for some food. You three go with him."

"Okay matey!" And together the band crawled off, leaving Sharpfur to nurse his tail.

"Why do they always listen to you?" The weasel whined. "I actually am there brother!"

"Like you spend your days listening to elders. Tsk, tsk. Come Sharpfur mon copain, let's practice in poco." Threeclaw approached with this usual swagger.

The weasel pounced to his feet, dirk drawn. "Har-har! This time you'll be eating splinters!"

The albino stoat, despite having to use only his left paw, soundly defeated him. A few moments later the young weasel was spinning around, clutching his head dizzily.

"I was telling you to duck." Threeclaw commented. "Grey, would you be wanting to try?"

The young rat shook his head. "N-no si-Threeclaw."

"Ah poor Grey, he still thinks this is the bloody Long Patrol, where you say 'sah' and 'wot' like an overgrowing rabbit."

"It's not faaaaaair!" Sharpfur whined, readjusting himself. "You're older."

"No you idiot, you keep missing your lunges." Matiya seemed to especially hold a grudge against Sharpfur.

"That didn't stop you loosing!" The mustelid snapped, his fur bristling.

"You fought dirty." The squirrel replied.

"There is no such thing as fighting dirty squirrel. And you can take your dignity and throw it overboard, you tried to strangle me from behind."

"Would you like to go again?" Matiya challenged.

"I hope you don't beat up Fret again, that tooth was special to him." Sharpfur grinned, showing that none of his own teeth were missing.

The squirrel shot a glance at Fret, and guilt boiled over him. Had he created this? Fret shrunk. "Are you up for it weasel?"

"That is not happening." The stoat stepped between them. "Redwaller, you may be desiring a fight, but we're in a mess because I wounded the shrew. I'm sorry but I cannot let you fight mi amigo, else you might be hurting soon after."

"You're sorry for not letting him strangle your pet, but you're not sorry about holding us captive?" Momchillo's voice was so dry it could dehydrate an apple.

"You are not being captive. You are being guests. Capetan has already been explaining to you. We will catch woodlander boat, and sell you for food. Your kind and brave woodlanders bring you back to Redwall and mi pienso que we are all happy."

"You don't tie guests to masts." Momchillo responded.

"Really? I wasn't knowing. I'll be remembering next time." The stoat chuckled. "Do you have food? Are you cold? Dry? Mayhaps un poco uncomfortable, mais you have what you are needing. If you are behaving we'll even ungag the hare. We are honest, mi amigos, we don't want you dying, cheer up a little and mayhaps we can have some adventures together. Sharpfur on your feetpaws, now we are moving quicker, yes?"

Later that day...

"And stole the honey from her hare, the hare, the hare and the weasel fair!"

Silvertongue's sole talent was singing. And sing he did. Sharpfur's father looked almost exactly the same as his son. Taller by a bit, the weasel strung his loot as he danced around the deck, his voice echoing in a fine melody.

"The hare smelled his honey in the air, in the air, in the air, he smelled it there!"

Then the whole crew sung up. "The hare, the hare and the weasel fair!"

"He chased the weasel from here to there and there to here! And smelled the honey in the air!"

"The hare, the hare, and the weasel fair!" The crew bellowed back. And then a cacophany of hoots and cheers filled the deck.

Silvertongue grinned, and bowed to the applause. Then Sickletail put her arms around him. "You were excellent, my weasel fair."

"And you, my honied hare." He responded in the same voice.

"Use the cabin if you're going to get all lovey-dovey again." Sick-Eyes snapped, making her way past the two.

"What about you abbeybeasts? Do you know any good music?" The weasel inquired, his mate and him pulling away from each other.

Sick-Eyes sat next to Tibbers and began undoing his bandages. "If I hear any more music out of ye, I'll shove your head up that loot. Snap at me and you'll be needing bandages."

Silvertongue backed down, and went to join Gulash and Threeclaw at a fire the two had built on-deck.

"I can't stand his bloody loot. Every time he sings that stupid song another one of his babes shows up, and I can't stand them either!"

Sharpfur snarled at her. "Right back at ye, ye sack of bones."

"You'll be a sack of broken bones if you don't shut yer trap!"

Sharpfur shut up.

"Now, now hare, I'm going to ungag ye. Behave yerself or it shall go back on."

Jack-is-Lucky was quite at first. "That song was in poor taste ole chap."

Silvertongue grinned, and approached. "It's a fair shanty I say. Know any yerself?"

Jack burst into song. "O vermin if you dare, come and visit us someday. Bring all your friends and weapons with you 'll find a good warm welcome, let nobeast living cold steel was never good enough for you. You won't find no helpless beasts all undefended. Like the old ones, babes, and mothers that you've slain. And you'll find that when your pleasant visit's ended. You'll never ever leave our shores again. All you cowards of the land and you flotsam of the sea. Who murder, pillage, loot, whene'er you please. There's a Long Patrol a waitin', we'll greet you cheerfully. You'll hear us cry 'Eulalia' on the breeze.'Tis a welcome to the bullies who slay without a care,All those good and peaceful creatures who can't fight. But perilous and dangerous the beast they call the hare. Who stands for nought but honor and the right."

Then the deck filled with laughter and hooting. Nobeast but Fret could stand upright, or look at the hare without laughing like half-madbeasts.

"What!? This isn't bloomin' funny!" The hare scowled.

Deathglare sent a chill down the hare's spine when they made eye-contact. "Old ones, babes and mothers?" He shook his head and for half a moment he wanted to laugh.

"We are not butchering you, babes." Silvertongue pointed out. "And mine mate is a mother, and Sick-Eyes is the oldest one!"

"Mayhaps we're not dead yet, but we're tied to a mast and are for sale like a slab of fish. Tell me, what beast ties babes to masts!"

"We do." Silvertongue grinned. "Pretty song." And then the crew laughed like madbeasts.

The vermin went below deck afterwards, or into the cabin, leaving Fret to laze on the deck. These times were the worst of all. He was left alone with the others to watch and loathe him while he slumped into a depressed pile of fur.

He tried very hard to keep Redwall out of his mind, but he knew almost nothing that wasn't related to the abbey. Food reminded him of the feasts, or Constance filling their whole hut with steam. She had always tried to instill manners into him. She had insisted he use a fork and knife and spoon like a civilized beast. Constance made things worse. He saw her face in his dreams, asking him to come home. And in his dreams Fret was always whimpering that he couldn't. Thoughts of his uncle were almost as bad. Connington was telling him that he wasn't vermin, that he never would be. And Fret's mind responded the way it always did.

Look at me now uncle. What do you think I am?

Jack could feel the lack of joy around him, and hated it. "Now, now chaps and chapettes, we mustn't let our moods fall down, wot. The Long Patrol has never lost a fight I should say, wot, yes yes, we'll be alright and good."

But the sombre mood would not leave.

"Come on chaps, let's make the best of a bag bargain! Who knows a good story?" Honestly the depression was starting to get to him.

"I know one." Momchillo said loudly. "Once upon a time, Redwall Abbey took in a young ferret babe. They raised him, and loved him, and in the end he lead them all to slavery."

Fret curled up further into a ball.

"That was the worst story I have ever heard!" Sharpfur commented. "Then again, you abbeybeasts don't have many good tales, do you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hawthorn fixed him with a cool, piercing gaze.

The weasel took a step back from her gaze, despite her lack of freedom. "That you muckers don't know how to tell a good story."

"Burr we're moighty good at it oll methinks."

Cringing from the moletalk, Sharpfur held up a paw. "Your stories all have: your magic sword, some undefeatable fighters, the good ole evil vermin and yer happy endings." He listed, grinning toothily.

"Oh please-like you could come up with a better story." Momchillo snapped.

"I could. All vermin do! We all write the stories of our lives." Sharpfur said, puffing out his chest.

"Very eloquent." The mouse's sarcasm was palpable.

Sharpfur chuckled, and poked the mouse's nose. "My point is, yer stories are all the same. Every vermin's different. Our tales are realistic."

"Well you all end up dead, so yes. Very realistic."

"Everybeast ends up dead." Sharpfur shrugged. "But I ain't dying anytime soon." And with that he walked off, his tongue poking out mockingly.

"I'm going to kill him." Momchillo growled. "One day, I'm going to kill him."

Sharpfur sat down next to Fret. "Seasick?"

Fret was glad of the excuse, and nodded weakly. He couldn't show any weakness around any of the other vermin.

"It happens. If yer gonna puke, stick your head overboard." The weasel advised.

"Wutt if oim feelin' loike oim about to emptea moine stomach?"

"Then yell 'bucket' and hold it in." Sharpfur withdrew his dagger and began tossing it up and down.

"Make sure to get some on him." Hawthorn advised.

"I heard that." Sharpfur snapped.

"Good. I wouldn't want to catch you off guard. Again."

Sharpfur's fur bristled in anger. "Listen vole. If you don't close yer mouth, I'll cut yer tongue out!"

"Sure you will. You're just a scared little rodent." All eyes were going from Hawthorn to Sharpfur.

"Scared? Pah! Of you! Pshaw! I'll gut ye here and now."

"Then get it over with you gutless coward!" She yelled.

Greyclaw burst out from the cabin, the little weasels hanging from his ears or clutching at his tail. "Is something wrong?"

"We are being held against our will by a pack of stinking rats! What do you think is wrong!?" Hawthorn was red in the face from yelling.

Grey was slow on the uptake. "Er..."

"Ignore her Grey. She just wants to count the trees in the Dark Forest." Sharpfur growled.

Fret, feeling a twist in his stomach that had nothing to do with the rocking on the boat, climbed up and threw his head over the side of the boat.

"Better out than in matey." Sharpfur said, patting the ferret on the back.

"Rat. How long until you get sold into slavery?" Momchillo turned his head to Greyclaw.

"Er... Never?"

"Really? I thought so too. Until you know, I got sold into slavery. I'd be careful if I were you. Fret has a habit of selling his 'mates'."

"Frettie?"

"He's going to lead you to a ditch and leave you there to rot!"

Grey looked stricken and turned to Fret. The ferret was in no position to tell him otherwise. "You're abandoning me?" He said in a hollow voice.

Sharpfur was on him in a heartbeat, piggybacking on the rat to stroke his head. "Nononono the mouse is just lying. We're mates Grey, I would never dream of getting rid of you."

"But he said-"

"He's just a mean, mean mousie. Nobeast's gonna separate us."

Momchillo opened his mouth to argue, but Sharpfur was quick on the uptake. "Can you smell that?"

"All I smell is you."

"Mmmmm, vittles. Ma's cooking. Go ahead, I'll join you in a minute."

Grey nodded weakly and walked back into the cabin, a vacant expression on his face. Sharpfur walked up to the tied mouse, and grabbed him by the front of his habit, his small claws outstretched and hanging dangerously close to his face.

"You hit a nerve mousie." He growled dangerously low. "Say something like that again and when I'm done with you your own mother wouldn't recognize your stinking tail." The weasel let him go and skulked off, slamming the cabin door shut behind him.

That night...

Fret shivered on the deck. It was cold and raining and Silvertongue was singing loudly. Something tasty was cooking, but Fret had no appetite. He couldn't keep anything down anyways, so what was the point of eating?

His fur was wet and filthy, and he was shivering like a madbeast.

"Why are you here?" Matiya asked him suddenly. Fret looked up. The captives were drier than he was, with the sail acting as an umbrella. They were warmer too, all snoozing next to each other. Matiya, it seemed, was the only one awake.

Fret looked back at the deck feeling even more miserable.

Matiya tried a different tack. "You remember the feast at Redwall?"

Fret wondered whether the squirrel was tormenting him on purpose.

"You remember at the walls... What you said to me?"

The ferret nodded.

"Well... I don't hate you."

Fret sniffed and stared a his feet. He didn't have the energy needed to snap. "I already know what you think. You don't have to lie anymore."

"No... Fret. I'm serious. I don't hate you. I never did."

They stared at each other for a long time.

"It doesn't matter. I can't go back anymore. I just proved you all right. I was vermin all along."

"And what does that mean? So what if you're vermin? Look Fret... I've probably said a lot of stupid things to you. I've done stupid things to you-but I never meant anything by them. It was all just a game. I didn't realize I was hurting you when I-"

"Whacked me sore with your stupid sword?" Somehow he could snap again. "When you said I was Ungatt Trunn or Badrang? When you laughed while your brothers tried to pull my mask off?" Fret stood up. "If you didn't know then you're an idiot and if you did then you hate me same as everybeast else."

"Then I'm an idiot! I'm sorry Fret... I didn't know that it bothered you so much-"

"Bothered me? Your lying bothers me! You didn't know? How could you not know?"

"You never said anything! I'm sorry! I was a stupid squirrel and I didn't think! "

Fret stared at the squirrel. His mouth open.

"We were looking for you the day they caught us. If I hated you would I go looking for you?"

Fret was dumbstruck. He blinked and thought up more arguments. It's a trick. Was his first instinct. Matiya was lying to him. But the squirrel's face said otherwise.

"I'm sorry."

Fret's jaw fell open. "I-I-" Another thought popped up and his ears perked up slightly. "So... The others..." Had he been wrong all along? They had come looking for him too.

"I... Don't know."

Fret's ears drooped. "It doesn't matter now. I can never go back."

"Don't say that. We'll get back, okay?"

Fret sniffed glumly. "You might."

There was a short pause. Matiya chewed on his tongue,, trying to choose the best words for the dripping ferret.

"Are you cold?"

"No." Fret lied instantly. He sneezed loudly. "N-yes."

"Come here. It's not so wet, and it's warmer."

Fret hesitated.

"Come on. You're going to catch a cold."

The ferret shook himself mostly dry. He walked over and slumped next to the squirrel.

An awkward silence descended.

"So..." Matiya wondered how long he'd have to string words together to save the day. "Were you going to... Kill Momchillo?".

Fret gave the squirrel a quick glance. Tell the truth. Tell the truth. He's being nice! And that was exactly why Fret lied. Since when was Matiya nice to him? "Kill... Not really. I was..." Going to free you. "Hurt him... But kill is a little... Much." Vermin are vermin, and you'll always be one. He knows it and you know it.

Matiya sighed. "I can't speak for the others. But... It's okay. I forgive you."

Fret almost smiled, but his own thoughts prevented him from doing so. A goodbeast would have told him the truth. You're just a vermin, and you know it. Mayhaps he'll forgive you now, tied to a mast and lonely, but what about when he's all safe and sound? Do you think he'll give a fig about you?

Fret didn't know the answer, but at least it was warmer there.

Footnote: Merry Christmas! Well Christmas Eve but who cares. The next few chapters will be a lot like this- filler-ey if you will.

Now some more information. Trivia if you will.

Grey Claw and Greyclaw, different spelling, same character.

Threeclaw, Incidentally there is a 'canon vermin' named Threeclaw. He's one of the slavers in Matimeo and surprisingly he doesn't die. Though he is not an albino or a stoat.

Fret's name comes from the fact that he spends a lot of time worrying and over thinking things.

There's more stuff, but not exactly relevant now.

Enjoy