The squirrel reared backwards, and kicked Threeclaw over him, so that the stoat missed his pounce and went rolling into a snowbank. Matiya got up quickly and grabbed one of the branches from the fire, he turned and parried a blow from a fat stick Threeclaw had somehow gotten his paws on.

The stoat's eyes were alight with cold laughter.

"I saved your life!" Matiya cried indigantly, as he ducked a swing and jabbed forwards. Threeclaw dodged effortlessly and brought the stick down onto his knuckles. The squirrel yelped in pain and for good measure was kicked in the stomach, so that he fell over once more. He had eleven older brothers, however, and being the youngest he was no slacker in the art of combat, especially now that Threeclaw did not have a real sword. He fell over, sucked in his belly to avoid a stick-thrust into the ground, turned and threw a snowball at his attacker. Threeclaw dodged, and in so doing allowed Matiya to kick the stick out of his paw. The squirrel caught the stoat's foot as it came down to wind him, and with teeth that could crack nuts open better than a hammer, the squirrel bit into it.

Threeclaw yelled in pain, and Matiya pulled and made him fall. Then the squirrel got up and pounced forwards.

Abbot Martin hadn't felt this old since... he couldn't even remember. "First sign of old age." He muttered to himself. "Loss of memory." Then again he had never been exactly this age before, had he? He sighed and yawned and stretched. He had several hours free now, that he did not truly know what to do with. Normally he would have been scolding somebeast, confiscating something, educating. Yet, as if by common consent, his entire class had been captured by vermin. Everybeast had worry written in them, so that even his failing sight could see. Some hid it well, with optimism, and laughter that nobeast had heard before, others did not try to hide it and could not be asked to do anything. Abbot Martin thought it was a blessing that the cook was one of the former. At least the food was still good...

He pushed up his glasses, which had been threatening to slide off his muzzle, and rose shakily to his feetpaws. They had had no news from anybeast about what was going on beyond the abbey, and rumours were flying everywhere. Information was scant, and what news they did have was unclear. Fret had vanished on the night of the feast, everybeast else had vanished the next day. Then the Long Patrol had found a vermin camp which had managed to escape with the children, and vowed to pursue them. That was it. That was the last word they had had.

He had studied all the histories, and in truth was more Recorder than Abbot, and the histories were full of such tedious puzzles. First there had been the feast. So the children had been captured the day afterwards, but that left Fret unaccounted for. And Constance had collapsed at the feast. Perhaps she had seen Fret leaving, or perhaps he had been taken, and somebeast had wounded her while she fought back. And then the other children... how had they even gotten out of the Abbey? And how did they end up in the paws of pirates? Somehow it was all connected, but for the life of him he could not put it together. Fret didn't know anybeast beyond Redwall. He had left the abbey on one trip, and had, to the old mouse's surprise, returned back to the abbey all safe and sound.

Fret had always been difficult, more so than the rest of his peers. Matiya was overactive. Grollo was easily distracted, and sometimes Rosebrush's moletalk was so strong he had difficulty understanding her. But they all obeyed, and listened and payed attention. The only one who could cow the young ferret into submission was the badgermum, and Constance, but the latter never seemed to want to.

In truth, he had always reminded him of Veil Sixclaw, a ferret who had many, many, many seasons ago been raised in the abbey, only for him to turn poisoner and get banished. Bryrony, whom the old abbot always imagined looked like Constance, had then followed her 'sweet' little child. He had tried to kill her several times over, but she persisted that he was 'good'. Then at last, Veil met with his father, the feared warlord Swartt Sixclaw, who tried to slay the mousemaid only for the boy to take the blow and die from it.

"Extravagant." He muttered. But the extravagance of it had a purpose. He had always seen it as a warning as to the nature of vermin. They could not be trusted, not even one who had known nothing but the goodness of the world. And after the disaster that Fret's first and only outing had caused, he had been sure the ferret had had enough and was on his way out and onto a life of his own.

"But he came back." Just as grumpy, and disinterested as ever... but he had come back. Connington had been right then, and he was a good lad. After that Martin had tried. He had truly, truly tried to keep him involved. He had controlled his temper as best he could, and gave encouragement when it seemed needed. Would that be enough to warrant a second return?

Threeclaw lifted his feet and kicked at the pouncing squirrel, winding him and throwing him forwards into a tree. The snow was shaken off and fell on top of Matiya, who stood quickly and shook it off him as fast as he could. A moment later he got a stick to the stomach, and his nose was brought down to the stoat's rising knee. It hurt a lot and sent waves of pain all over him, then the stoat tossed him backwards into the snow.

He arrived at the Hospital Wing. Blind Agatha was struggling to stay awake next to the bed Constance lay on.

"Tired?" He asked, not unkindly.

"Try exhausted. Bella says somebeast has to watch over her." She indicated the large mouse sleeping peacefully on the soft bed.

"I can take over if you want some rest. I haven't got anything better to do."

The squirrel shook her head. "Can't sleep. I'm too worried about my Mati."

"I'm sure he's alright." The words were empty, since Abbot Martin could not give anything to prove the truth of them.

"You and everybeast else. An' how can he be alright? He's probably curled up in some dark little cell with the others. Don't even imagine anybeast gives him something to eat. Their kind ain't generous..."

"I'm sure he's alright." Abbot Martin repeated, this time more firmly.

Matiya crashed through the snowbank, but had scarcely a moment before he had to move out of the way of Threeclaw's next swing. He lifted his own stick in time to block another swing and was surprised it didn't break on the spot. It shook in his paw, and made his whole body shake, but he had no time to contemplate further. Threeclaw was attacking again.

I'm doing alright. He thought. I mean... I'm not dead yet, am I?

Then the stoat stopped pressing the attack, and leaned casually against a tree. He placed a paw to his throat and croaked. "Not bad."

"I saved your life." Matiya reminded him.

The stoat shrugged. "Your mistake."

The squirrel felt his courage fleeing. This stoat was cold-hearted and cruel, and would kill him without a second thought. Fighting him was not a good idea.

But fighting him was his only course of action. They fought, their sticks cracking and clacking, the snow under them flying like sprays of ocean waves.

Threeclaw's breathing was growing raspier, but each of his blows came down stronger each time, and Matiya's stick was cracked in two and he was forced to scamper away. Threeclaw placed a paw against a tree. His breathing was thicker than ever, in the end he slid down the tree, and Matiya saw the reason he had won, there was blood seeping from the stoat's throat. And the same pleading stare from his eyes.

"You'll kill me." Threeclaw shook his head from side to side, and Matiya could see he was close to tears. He found that still he could not let this creature die... despite what had just happened.

"This time... I'm tying you up."

Constance's eyes blinked open. And she sat up suddenly.

"Constance?" Asked the abbot. He placed a paw on her shoulder. It was quivering faintly. "Are you feeling well dear?"

"Well?" She turned to him, then to Blind Agatha. Then before either could react she threw her arms around both and drew them into a hug. "I feel fantastic! Today is amazing! Truly, the best day to wake up to!"

Abbot Martin tried in vain to pull free from her grip, and as she stood up she dragged him along, though Blind Agatha managed to slip free and was now catching her breath. Constance, with energy that would make a dibbun envious, raced over to the window and threw it wide open. Abbot Martin hastily grabbed his glasses before they were unceremoniously shattered at the foot of the tower.

"Why! The sun is up and there is not even a cloud in the sky! This is truly... truly a great day!" She sighed lovingly, then giggled and grabbed the helpless Abbot by the paws, before turning round and round across the room, practically lifting the smaller mouse off the floor. "My baby's alive! My baby's alive! My baby's alive!" At long last she let go of the abbot, who promptly collapsed onto the bed she had been occupying moments before. His head spun still, and he waited for the world to reset around him. Presently, Constance had gotten her paws onto a flower, and was breathing deeply into it's bright yellow petals.

"What do you mean your baby's alive?" Blind Agatha asked with narrowed eyes.

"Indeed. Fret was never dead." Added Martin, clutching his old head between his paws while he sat up.

"No, not Fret, silly! My baby! Skip was his name!" She giggled again, and for a moment Abbot Martin was worried she was about to dance again.

"Skip?" Fret had always been her baby, even when he had grown far too old to be called a baby.

"Speaking of which, where is Fret?"

Abbot Martin felt a knife go through him where his heart had been a moment earlier. He gulped audibly, and glanced at all that was left of Blind Agatha. A cloud of dust...

"He's gone."

"Gone?"

"I don't know where, I don't know why, I don't even know exactly when." He was sweating. He had seen the result of Constance's love of her son, and he doubted he could survive such a beating at his age.

Constance looked sad for a moment. "Connington's gone after him then?"

"Er...yes. And we have some of the Long Patrol. And the Log-a-log has been very kind. I'm sure he's alr-" He caught himself mid-sentence.

Constance gazed down at her feet. Then she looked back up at him, and though her grin was smaller, it was still a grin. "He'll come back. I know he'll come back. He promised me he'd come back."

If Fret had the choice to come back again... well he'd already made that choice, hadn't he?

"Fret will come back. Now Abbot, tell me where is my son-not Fret. Skip. He was here at the feast." Then without warning she grabbed him by the paws and began dancing round and round again.

Oh dearie me...

"He was here! He was here! He was here!"

Round and round they went, and the old mouse's mind raced everywhere at once. Constance's son? At the feast? Fret had been Constance's son for as long as anyone could remember...

"My son's alive! Hahahahahaha!" The laugh radiated life and joy and love, it had all her heart inside it.

"I'm getting too old for this." Mumbled the abbot as he cradled his head again.

"You want to be a warrior?" Threeclaw managed to croak out. The stoat was awake then, and was now bound thickly by a large pile of snow. Matiya wished he could have used rope of some kind, but unfortunately he had none. His eyes were laughing but this time there was no cruelty.

"What's it to you?" Matiya asked angrily. The ingratitude hurt him more than anything. He had saved the stoat's life and almost died for it. And now he had saved him again...

"You had a wooden sword." Threeclaw remembered vaguely, then he leered. "You do want to be a warrior."

"Yes. I do. As a matter of fact." He had been rethinking this career option a lot lately. Surely a warrior should be made of stronger stuff...

"You have a good heart... it'll get you killed one day..."

He couldn't quite tell why there was a note of concern in the vermin's voice. Still his fur bristled in anger. "By you?"

"...Not...today..." He chuckled and the two descended into silence.

"You're not bad."

For some reason Matiya flushed with pride and stood a little straighter.

"For a squirrel." He added.

"Explains how I beat you."

"You did not beat me amigo."

Matiya smirked. "Sure. That explains why you're neck deep in snow and I'm not."

His smirk vanished when the stoat rose and the pile of snow fell around him. The same smirk appeared on the vermin's face. "You want to go back to your abbey, eh? I will take you there. But when I arrive I expect to be treated like a guest."

"We'll tie you to a mast and hang you off the top of the walls." Matiya said in mock seriousness.

"And when I leave I will do so with a big bag of vittles, and my rapier. Do you know the way back?"

Matiya shook his head.

"Good. Then you need me." Threeclaw sat back down, and leaned in contentment.

Matiya frowned.

"Oh and if you want I can teach you."

The squirrel tried not to be swayed by the obvious temptation. But how could he? In his mind's eye Threeclaw was fighting and winning and laughing. His sword flashed while he did an overly fancy lunge that somehow disarmed all his opponent's. Then the image changed and it was himself in the stoat's position. Laughing and winning and fighting.

"That doesn't sound too bad." Matiya said evenly, suppressing the urge to hop to his feet and twirl a stick about and begin at that very moment. Then he looked up and found Threeclaw was fast asleep.

"Is your shoulder better?" Grey asked solemnly as they continued to walk aimlessly down the river.

"Yes. Yes it is." The pain was numbed and his arm hung limply at his side, the rat had warned him that it would do that. "Thank you, Grey Claw."

The rat beamed despite himself. "You're welcome."

Jack-is-lucky then came out of nowhere, holding out a giant slab of snow that he had spent the past few hours molding into the perfect shape, so that it now resembled a giant slab of cheese.

"Hello!" He beamed. "How are we doing chaps? Not too bally bad, eh?"

"Is that snow?" Grey asked, pointing at what the hare was holding.

"It's a present! For our most er-trusted companion, our beloved healer, Master Greyclaw of the Dishonest Bunch! May you never go hungry and enjoy this piece of snow, which I gift to you now in the place of cheese!" Greyclaw beamed widely and held out his arms to accept the badly-shaped piece of cheese, which the hare gifted to him. He would see Sharpfur again, when they went to Hellgates together. Maybe I can even say I'm older than him, coz he died younger... "Now! Let us continue on our way! We will find our friends before Spring comes! That is my solemn promise to you-"

"We don't need a speech." Tibbers interrupted. "I think we should just head deeper into the woods, Redwall isn't next to a river."

"But I like the river." Greyclaw said quietly, cradling the piece of 'cheese'.

"Aye, but Redwall's where we're going." Jack-is-lucky said matter-of-factedly.

"Redwall's haunted." Grey said quietly, pulling in the 'cheese' for safety and comfort.

Tibber's took one of the rat's paws in his own, and Jack did the same. "No ghost will hurt you so long as you're with us."

"I'm happy for you Grey..." That's what Sharpfur would have said if he could see him now. And he could, couldn't he? He would be watching him. The weasel had promised to never leave him, death wouldn't stop him from keeping that promise.

Almost skipping the three travelled into the woods, holding hands it appeared that they were merely dibbuns going to school, and from a distance Grey and Jack and Tibbers ceased to be shrew and rat and hare, and were merely three friends going for a stroll.

End of Book I

Footnote: And there you have it. Book I is complete. In keeping with the style of Redwall's original author I have separated the fic into three separate 'books'. Though I will continue to publish them here.

Unfortunately I can't give you release dates on anything, both because summer holidays are coming and because I *might* have exams. Even though I left school and have a job... Life. *shrugs* still I doubt I will ever stop writing so you can expect something eventually.

I hope you enjoyed the first 'third' (the plot is divided rather roughly into three...) of this story. It has been very fun to write, purely because it is quite different from what I usually do (less action more... drama?). It's also interesting to note that it has one of the highest views I've gotten on a fanfic, and I think it will have the highest by the time I finish it.

I will *try* to take a break from this story and work on my other fics but life is confuzzling.

Enjoy and Update soon.