Matiya hit the rocks against each other as hard as he could, and watched in dismay as the hard-earned sparks withered and floated away. Growling in frustration the squirrel gave it another try, but the result was the same. The wood, cold and damp, refused to take light. He had been trying for hours now and yet the result was always the same. A flash of colour and nothing more. Clack! Clack! Clack! The sparks fluttered and floated and died again.
Oh well... I have time...
Despite not wanting to arouse suspicion, Sharpfur could not resist mocking his temporary companions. "Rescue, rescue. Oh won't you come rescue me?"
"Can you just be quiet!" Grollo snapped. "You're driving me insane!"
"Oh no!" The young weasel gasped sarcastically. "You need to be rescued from insanity as well! My my, what a pit you have fallen into young hedgepig-"
"Shut it! I didn't fall into anything!"
"Tis a very deep pit indeed."
"I'm going to slap you." He said, raising his arms in a threatening posture.
Sharpfur crossed his paws over his chest. "You shouldn't warn people you're going to hit them." He said matter-of-factedly. "Then they see it coming a seaso-"
Grollo's paw smacked the weasel hard across the cheek, knocking him off balance, and sending him tumbling into the snow. He was up a moment later, looking considerably less amused.
"Alright if that's the way you want to play!" He scooped up a ball of snow and raised it to fling at his opponent, only for one from Hawthorn to hit him in the face. Shaking the snow off him he glared at them both. "You think this is funny!? I could be freezing to death right now!"
They had been holding back their laughter up until then, but after witnessing his reaction they both burst out laughing. Sharpfur was slightly tempted to make a break for it then and there, but it was cold and dark and there was a sort of safety in numbers.
"This isn't funny!" He snapped. They continued laughing, and hot with anger and shame Sharpfur marched off, only to trip on a snow-bank. Hawthorn laughed ever-harder, but Grollo stopped abruptly. He was vividly reminded of Fret and the disastrous trip with the otters... well it hadn't really been disastrous, only the first part.
"Wait are you serious?" He asked, only for the weasel to turn back around. One snowball caught Hawthorn in the face, the other hit Grollo, and then Sharpfur was the only one laughing. Until two more snowballs hit him. Wiping the snow off his face, Sharpfur frowned deeply.
"Oh now it is on. DIE WOODLANDERS!" And then the snow was flying.
Grey flung a stone into the river, trying to make it bounce, but his efforts went in vain, and the small rock sunk like a boulder. Sharpfur had always said he was horrible at this, and the weasel himself had been an expert. Eight, seven, six bounces with a flick of the wrist, and all Grey Claw could do was nail Threeclaw on the chin. Then again Sharpie had always been better than him... at everything. He had done all the talking, fighting, and thinking. But that was normal. Their mother had always explained that some were born followers and others were leaders, it was just his luck he was born a follower, he doubted Sharpfur would get along well with another leader. He hated getting bossed around. He hated a lot of things. Water mostly. That had been their greatest difference. For him the water was like a second home. For Sharpfur it was like Hellgates personified. Grey Claw sighed deeply and tossed another stone into the water. It would not do to dwell on the dead. Sharpfur had moved on... and for once Grey could not follow.
"You know what, maybe I should do the talking." Tibbers whispered. "You're a bit...rash."
Jack frowned. "I am not! i am merely using normal code of conduct between our creatures. That rat held us captive for I don't know how long and you expected me to go easy on him? No sah! And in my defence, wot. I did not expect him to take it so harshly. I mean... they don't really care about each other do they? Well, not like you or I."
"That's true. But we're stuck with him, and I hate looking at anybeast that sad."
The hare nodded wisely. "We just need to get him to stop thinking about his mate." He assumed the famous 'thinker pose'. "Now... how shall we do it?"
After what seemed like eternity Matiya's stones truck true, and the sparks set the wood alight. It was slow going at first, but after much nervous blowing and poking, he had managed to get the flames crackling. It reminded him of Redwall. Of home, of safety. And of the glorious foods and drinks. What he would give for a Feast... or to go back to the last feast. He would have done so much differently. He would have stopped Fret from falling, preferably. Or wouldn't have gone and lead all his peers into a trap. He'd have left it to the responsible ones. He shook his head clear of those thoughts. The past was pointless to look back to. He couldn't change it. Right now all he could do was get some sleep. And hope that tomorrow would be a better day. He glanced nervously at the barely-breathing vermin he shared his camp with and sighed. Warriors never had it easy did they?
"Okay, okay! I yield!" Sharpfur collapsed on his front, panting between fits of laughter. Their game had brought them far away from the river, to snow-covered forests new to them all. But for once none of them could think about going home . Hawthorn sat down, taking in long gulps of breath. By now they were covered in showers of snow, and had exhausted themselves completely. But it did not matter. They were happy for a few moments longer, until they had caught their breath.
Hawthorn shivered suddenly. "Is it just me or did this whole place get a lot colder?"
Sharpfur sat up. "Yeah. It's cold." He shivered violently and grinned. "That was fun wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Said Grollo, not paying attention to the question. He huddled closer to Hawthorn.
"You two are a lot better at this than Grey Cl-" He stopped suddenly. They were not better than Grey Claw! They were woodlanders! Abbeybeasts! They hated verminkind and he hated them right back! Why had he even played with them?
"I'm hungry." Grollo whimpered. The wind was picking up, and blowing icy air through the trees.
"Yeah... me too." Sharpfur subconciously crept closer to the two, intent on joining in their huddle for warmth. When he realized what he was doing he stopped suddenly and almost hit himself. They were the enemy. They always would be. He had to remember that.
"We can't stay here." Hawthorn said suddenly. "We should find shelter. A fire would be good."
Sharpfur was backing away slowly. Now was his chance. If he bolted now they would loose him.
"I can't make a fire." Grollo said in a voice as hollow as his stomach.
"Neither can I... Weas- Sharpfu-"
Suddenly the weasel caught the scent of smoke and soup in the air. "Fire!" He cried in joy, and without thinking, he tore towards it. Then Hawthorn smelled it too, and followed just as quickly, with Grollo bringing up the rear.
They came to a clearing of snow, with a cauldron bubbling over a pile of crackling logs. Two small sacks and a blanket made up the camp. It was empty, save for some prints that seemed freshly made and vanished into the woods.
"Um... hello?" Hawthorn called out tenatively. The fire was new. And if they were lucky it was somebeast on their way to Redwall. Home. They were so close to home.
Sharpfur was not thinking about home, or whom the camp belonged to. He went for one of the bags, tore it open and pulled free a loaf of bread that was still warm. With manners that would have made Fret look like an Abbot the weasel proceeded to devour the loaf, unheeding Hawthorn's protests.
"What's wrong with you? That could belong to someone!" Hawthorn gasped in shock. "You shouldn't just eat it!"
"Nobeasts here!" Sharpfur complained after swallowing a huge chunk of the bread. He then continued with a full mouth, but Hawthorn could not make out the words.
After he had finished Grollo shrugged and took a loaf from the weasel, who had now moved on to the second bag.
"Grollo! What if they're hungry? I think we scared them."
"Well he's right. I mean if they're goodbeasts they'd give it to us anyways, and if it's vermin we'd better eat quick." The hedgehog then shrugged and peered into the soup. He went a sickly shade of green, and dropped the loaf. He tried to splutter words, but could only manage to back further and further away from the cauldron.
"What is it?" Hawthorn asked.
"I-i-i-i-i-" He turned and retched into the snow. Sharpfur was paying no mind and moved on to Grollo's dropped loaf. Hawthorn felt a fear like none other clutch at her, and was frozen in place. Something was moving! Something tall and dark and menacing. Somehow, she knew it wasn't a goodbeast.
The weasel finished the last loaf, swallowed heavily, and stood up, patting his very-filled stomach. "What are you all jabbering about?" He asked, turning on the spot to find two tall vermin, decorated in black ash with white markings, staring down at him. "Oh." Instinctively he backed off, giving off small, strained gulps of nervous laughter. The figures approached. One held a saber, the other a knife Sharpfur knew was used for skinning. He peaked into the soup and saw a small, white skull, that could not possibly belong to a fish. Then he noted the blanket was made out of the same black fur the two advancing on him possessed.
Grollo steadied himself and got to his feet. Hawthorn was frozen in place, her eyes wide with terror. Sharpfur was backing away fearfully. He bent over, and picked up as much snow as he could. He rolled it into a ball. Then everything happened at once.
Grollo yelled 'run' and threw the ball of snow as hard as he could. It caught the one with the skinning knife on the head. Hawthorn turned and bolted through the forest, and Grollo tried to do the same. Whether they would have made it or not was impossible to tell, especially since Sharpfur threw himself at the feet of the one holding a saber and pleaded for mercy. This served to trip the savage before he could pursue his prey. Unfortunately, the skinner was faster than either Hawthorn or Grollo, and caught the vole by the tail, before pulling her in for a mighty backhand blow. Grollo froze, unwilling to abandon the last of his friends from the abbey, and was smacked hard on the nose for his troubles. He fell onto his back, and felt the blood gushing out. Then the cannibal brought his foot down onto his stomach and sent the air flying out of him. And then all hope of escape was lost.
"Hello chappie! You're looking quite upset!" Jack called out with the joy and energy only a hare could muster. He and Tibbers had devised an ingenious plan by which to cheer up their companion. It involved tickling, the river, a giant slab of cheese they had replaced with a pawful of snow, and snow.
"You don't need to try and cheer me up." The rat said sullenly, interrupting the ingenious plan before it had even started.. Grey Claw hopped off the rock. "I have some dockweed, if your shrew wants it."
Tibbers peaked round from his hiding place. He had known that wouldn't work! "Look, rat... we got off on the wrong footpaw-"
"Stop trying to talk to me." He said with no emotion. "I'm fine." He was not. "Now do you want the dockweed or not?" His voice cracked in the last sentence and Tibbers decided it was best to change the subject.
"Yes. I'll take the dockweed." The rat looked slightly relieved that the subject had been dropped, and walked forwards with renewed vigor.
Jack frowned and marched off to mutter to himself. "The Long Patrol manual never said anything about how to deal with depress-ed rats! No sah! I'm going to have to complain to the Junior Corporal about this!"
Footnote: Hey guys. So just to let you know I'll be going on hiatus for a short while, and then depending on circumstances you can probably expect my update speed to slow down. Though that bit is uncertain. So yeah, just enjoy this cliffhanger for now XD