"Hellllllllllllgates!" Roared Sharpfur snapping the book shut and throwing himself to his feet. "That's it. I'm done. That stupid hedgepig can go drown in her books! I can't read squiggles and I will not read squiggles!" That was when he realized that nobeast was in the room. "Figures. Now ye all left me behind with old spikey macmuffin." Grumbling he checked the sitting room and found nobeast there. He marched forwards determinedly, chose one of the many doors and felt the world go a bit colder around him. "Haha, so this is the way out." There was a door at the far end of the corridor which he slunk towards as silently as he could. He reached it, and smelt the fresh air behind wood that had been charred black long ago.
"Sharpfur." He jumped at the sudden noise and spotted Hawthorn standing at the other end of the hallway.
"Do ye mind?" He growled, his half-healed back-fur's standing on end.
"I heard shouting." She responded.
"Probably the hegdepig. Wouldn't surprise me if that oaf burnt all his fingers clean off." He lied, turning back to the door and searching it for a handle.
"It sounded like you." She continued.
He growled again. "I'm surrounded by woodlanders, in the house of some witch hellbent on teaching me how to do 'bay-sick masematics'."
"She's not a witch."
"Is too. You know my kind have got a story about somebeast like her. She had a house built of candy-"
"That would be horrible. One storm and it would all fall apart."
"And lured young'uns in, then she fattened them up and cooked 'em. I'm pretty sure 'edjucation' is just a fancy way of saying 'put some meat on'."
Hawthorn could not stop her little giggle. Then when the infuriated weasel turned to glare at her she could do nothing to stop full-blown laughter exploding out of her.
Sharpfur stomped past her, determined to find something to use as a light. He needed to find the lock to be able to pick it.
Hawthorn was shaking her head as he searched in vain. "Education is learning. It's when one beast decides to teach somebeast else something-in your case, how to read."
"Well I don't need to know how to 'reed'."
"It's useful though." Hawthorn insisted. "And it's fun, me and Rosebrush used to spend hours reading with the Recorder-"
"Rosebrush?" He sniffed, as if that name was familiar.
"The mole." She said flatly, hoping against hope that Rosebrush was back home, safe and sound.
"Ah. Well, I'm sure two damsels like you could find it very entertaining to spend hours on end doing nothing. But reeding didn't help you escape me or the cannibals, hence, it's pointless." He finished speaking and tugged at his ears in frustration. He only needed one frickin' candle!
Then came the witch. She smiled at them, and fussed over them, and made them sit by the fire, and gave Hawthorn a large book to read, while telling Sharpfur she had a surprise for him. This would have worried him more if he weren't too skinny to be eaten.
It was habitual that they sat as far away from each other as possible.
"Watcha readin'?"
Hawthorn jumped in surprise and heard the weasel's little snigger. "A book." She answered, closing it and showing him the cover.
He frowned at it. "A mouse, with a sword? Where have I seen that before again?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's Martin the Warrior."
"Aha." He still looked lost.
"The ghost that haunts Redwall." She explained.
"Ooooh, yeah I've heard of him. They say he was killed long ago by a great Warlord named Verdinga or something, and rose again every night until Greeneye's horde was no more." His voice was smug, as if he expected praise. He didn't expect her to snicker.
"Yeah... not really." She grinned. "If you want I could read it to you."
"Do I look like some two foot dibbun to ye?" He snapped, not noticing her laughter, then his face fell. "Ye were jokin'." It wasn't that large a trap, it wasn't that funny a joke, but Sharpfur was still bitter he'd fallen for it.
"Of course I was joking." Hawthorn read the next line of the book, but somehow teasing Sharpfur was so much more entertaining. "Like you'd be able to appreciate the literary genius in these words."
"Oh please, I know a dozen good stories for every one in that book." As expected, he took the bait.
Grollo found them a few hours later, carrying a tray of scones. Sharpfur was gesticulating wildly, in the middle of performing one of his dozen 'better' stories, while Hawthorn laughed and laughed.
"No I tell ye, it was the size of a cart and- alright foods here, game over." Sharpfur was glad of the excuse, in truth he'd run out of old vermin tales pretty quickly, and had resorted to making them all up. He'd been beginning to run out of ideas when the food had arrived. He snatched a scone and chewed it vigorously. "You know, for a crazy witch keeping us locked in a hut, she does know how to cook."
"I cooked this actually." Grollo corrected, smirking ever-so-slightly.
Sharpfur's face fell. He hadn't meant to compliment the hedgehog. "Well... it's not the worst I've ever tasted."
"My dad was a cook, so I've been making stuff since when I was little." He said modestly.
Great Sharpfur, great, get all comfy around the woodland worms... Against his better judgement and his stomach's complaints he refused to eat another bite.
Then the witch came, beaming so widely Sharpfur was sure he was about to get eaten.
"Now, Mr Sharpfur, my friend has proved immensely helpful with your issue and have made you your very own pair of spectacles!" She held out the giant round glass orbs, held together by a thin wooden frame. "This way you'll be able to see the words more clearly!"
Grollo fell on a chair laughing, and Hawthorn was clutching her sides. The weasel snatched them away, intent on ripping them apart, but a sudden shiver of pain through his back stopped him. Old Spike took the glasses and placed them gently on his snout. His eyes were magnified widely, and his voice came out uncomfortably nassaly.
"Wow. You're all so... stupid! Hahahahahahaha!" All of them looked to him like they were out of proportion. Grollo's left eye was bigger than his right and Hawthorn's nose was like a balloon. "Hahahahahaha!"
But to them he was the one that looked ridiculous. And as he heard their laughter he stopped his own. Laugh... laugh with the woodland worms ye sorry excuse for a pirate.
"Well... we're doomed." It hadn't taken very long for the cannibals to catch them. They'd been hampered by Grey Claw's waistline, Tibber's shoulder wound and Jack's 'excellent' idea to switch directions.
"Not yet, old chap. I've got myself an idea."
Grey was ecstatic and clapped his paws in jubilation. "Oh joy! We're saved!"
"As long as it's not like your last idea." Tibbers muttered grumpily. His shoulder ached. Pain made it hard to think.
"It's an absolutely spliffin' idea! And simple too, don't cher know? We rush the door, and head for the woods." He paused, letting his confidence wash over his companions. A commander had to spread confidence.
Grey grinned. It was a plan worthy of Sharpfur.
The shrew sighed. "Oh well... why not?" Tibbers lined up beside them, and all three prepared to rush the door.
"On three." Jack was the fastest... he'd make it to the woods first. "One." Tibbers was the smallest, but almost anyone was faster than Grey on land. "Two."
"Hang on a minute! What happens if I get shot down?" The rat squeaked, his eyes wide with worry.
"We... stop and... pick you up." Tibbers provided. The shrew shook his head vigorously. "This is a stupid plan Jack, it'll get us all killed."
The hare deflated. "Well... would you rather die from a quick arrow to the back or... cooked alive?"
The three stared each other long and hard.
Confidence was of utmost importance. "It has been an honor... being er your captive and er- being tied to a mast with you... even if I was gagged. And er- surviving... yes, that was an honor too. So, er- let's give it a darn good go, eh chaps?"
Grey sniffled and shrugged. "I'll probably die anyways."
"That's the spirit!" Jack exclaimed before he could stop himself. I'm really wondering why anyone thinks I'm lucky... "Anywhoooo, on three!" He steeled himself, and prepared for the sprint of his life. "One! Two!"
A loud scream cut through the air outside. Tibbers dived for a rapier that was not on his person and Grey grabbed at the hare's nearest leg and squeezed it tight.
All thoughts of running left their minds and all three were frozen in fear as the screams continued coming, and gradually grew louder and louder, coming ever closer and closer.
"It's a giant rat." Moaned Tibbers, shivering as he two, began holding onto the hare's leg.
"It's a hare-eating giant rat."
"It's a hare, rat and shrew-eating giant rat with seven teeth and a crooked tail!" Greyclaw sobbed.
Then the door shook as the screams continued to mount. Somebeast was kicking it. Somebeast large, and strong and hungry.
"Okay... whatever comes through there... we rush him, alright chaps?"
The door burst open and the jovial face of the Skipper peered through. Scared as they were, none noticed, and all went for the kill.
The slavers tossed him into the large cell, where he landed sprawling, a moment later Deathglare was tossed on top of him. Both were winded by the fall, and rolled back, panting.
Climbing to his feetpaws, the marten helped the young mouse back up. His one eye adjusted to the dim half-light, where the slaves slept in two untidy heaps and mounds. There was one clear difference between the sides though. One was filled with the thin and hungry squirrels and hedgehogs and mice and otters, and the other with starved and scowling vermin.
Momchillo recovered and nursed his chest. His ribs were soar and painful. He noted the way left and right seemed to glare at each other, though nobeast seemed to have enough energy to glare.
"Stay close kid." The pine marten commanded, walking straight towards the pile of chained vermin. Momchillo did as he was bid despite the prickles of fear rising on his back. He was about to point out that, as a woodlander, it was better if he stayed with his own kind. The pack of vermin glared at the newcomers, but Deathglare seemed unphased.
Compared to everybeast here, Momchillo felt uncomfortably pudgy. They could see it too, no doubt. Despite all that had happened, he still had his fair share of puppy fat.
"What's this then?" He could not tell what species the thing that stood in front of him was. Fur so filthy it was grey, teeth so brown they seemed to be made of wood, and chains of rusted iron. "Mouse, eh? Where you from, pup?"
Momchillo stumbled backwards as the creature advanced. "R-rat." Was all he managed to croak out.
"Do I look like some halfwit to you? Anybeast can tell the difference between a rat and a mouse." The sea of vermin were muttering.
Momchillo tripped over a chain. His heart was beating. He was going to die in the darkness, ripped to shreds by enslaved vermin. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say, when a wisp of cold air silenced the crowd.
"Let's make something clear." The pine marten's whispered voice made everyone around him silent, straining to hear everything he had to say. "This beast here is my booty." He pulled the mouse to his feet, and stood there for a while, making sure to give everyone around them a long, deep look into his eye. The vermin shivered, as if the cold of winter was upon them all. "You have something against him, you have something against me." He fixed the brown-toothed one with his gaze, and held it there for what seemed to be eternity. "And believe me when I say you don't want to have something against me."
The sea shivered once more, and Deathglare lead the way, Momchillo followed hastily. "Vermin are harder to control than you woodlanders. Sure we bend quicker, but we bounce back just as quickly... when it suits us. If you and I want to get out, you're better served over here, then over there." He indicated the huddle of miserable woodlanders.
"Martin the Warrior was a slave once." Momchillo found himself repeating, for what felt like the hundredth time. "He got out with beasts like that."
"Give or take seven seasons." The pine marten grinned. "Fairy tales won't get you out of here, but I just might."
"So... er... sorry we hit you." Grey Claw apologized awkwardly, clutching to the hem of Jack's long coat. It was positively frightening, being surrounded by otters. Once, he and Sharpfur had used his tail to go fishing... they'd caught an otter instead and the experience had been... traumatic. For all parties involved.
"No problem." Muttered the Skipper, rubbing a swollen lip. He had a black eye as well and a small, jagged cut on his footpaw. "Just next time, don't get yourselves caught so easily. Now, I know you." He nodded to Tibbers. "How's yer dad?"
The shrew shrugged. "Haven't seen him in a while. I imagine he's a bit worried."
"Good imagining. Yer a hare of the Long Patrol... well lucky for ye we're headed for Salamandastron." Jack grinned. Home... "And you are?"
"Greyclaw." The rat greeted.
"We picked him up." Jack offered.
"It's a long story." Tibbers nodded.
The otter seemed to be pondering something. "Greyclaw... doesn't sound like a mouse's name."
"Well... I'm a rat sir." His voice was timid and small.
To his surprise the large, burly captain gave a bark of laughter. "Any idiot can tell the difference between a rat and a mouse boy, and you are not a rat."
Whimper found himself staring at the dumb pictures. The dumb drawings in the dumb book the dumb rat had given him the dumb day they'd met. His parents... who barely resembled him.
It was strange, to be so worried about something so trivial. It made his stomach flutter and shiver, as if he'd swallowed a bug whole and it was now struggling to get out. He had everything anyone could want. Vittles and drink and a warm bed and servants and all the time in the world to do whatever he pleased. It was the last part that truly bothered him. All the time in the world... to feel uneasy about he didn't even know what.
And sleep would not make it better. Sleep never made it better.
Footnote: Okaaaaaaaay, this part is now complete. Obviously you can expect the story to continue, but there will be a timeskip, and er... that's the reason this chapter took... so... fricking... long... to come out. Sigh.
I'm going to stress that this timeskip is important. The most important thing about it is actually how long it is. All along I have been writing this story without a set outcome. I mean I've had ideas about how it's going to end but those all fall under two categories.
While this fic does have a large cast of characters, ultimately Fret is the protagonist, and the story's main conflict is his morality/confusion/coming-of-age. So the endings have two possibilities... either he ends up 'good' or he ends up 'bad', though he'll always be somewhat in the middle. And because I haven't stuck to an ending, most likely this fic will go on hiatus for another while. Apologies.
But either way, enjoy and update soon.