A/N: Abrahem,
Hmm Sharpfur and Fret had a pretty interesting dynamic earlier on. Mostly because Sharpfur read him like a book. Although I can say that he won't be meeting anyone anytime soon XD
If you type up Redwall Map in google you'll find that the Lands of Ice and Snow (here the Frozen North/ Northlands despite the fact that there is another Northlands) is really, really farm from Redwall.
Oh, um, yeah... never really got to posting any videos... If you ever do start writing something I'll probably be obliged to give it a read. I have a rather large pile of things I need to read...
Not... exactly. I'm half Swiss half Bosnian, currently live in Serbia but I used to live in London so I know the 'english slang'. And stoats, weasels, shrews eccetera are more European than American (although I wouldn't really know, but I'm pretty sure...) the map of Redwall also looks like the British Isles and Highlanders are kind of like a parody of Scottish folk.
Accents are always fun. Kind of wanted to give something unique to Snakeskin beyond typical vermin drawl. Funnily enough I only know about dirks because of an item in League of Legends called Serrated Dirk. I honestly thought it was just a fancy word for knife XD
An audio-book version of Black and White. That would be really fun, but at the same time kind of hard to do I think. But I like the idea too.
Actually I'm a fan of all types of fantasy, it's just Redwall is more low-level than say, Narnia or Greek Mythology. But I haven't seen the movie lol.
Yeah, they are triplets. Your assumption is correct. (I like the idea that not even their parents could tell them apart so names just became redundant.
Hmmm, I'll think about it. But not sure if they'll get any real combat.
Lord Demon, Cameo, no cameo? Mention or pumpkin story? Do you still want me to use him or nah?
The wall of ice was cold and cruel, and refused to budge in the slightest. Aside from pathetic shaking Fret could not move either. And even if he could there was nowhere left to run. The snake was edging closer now, with deliberate slowness, as if underlining the hopelessness of his situation. Momchillo had abandoned him. If not for his present predicament Fret would have been cursing a storm. The mouse! The dumb mouse who's fault it was that he was being faced, not with tauntable Bork, but with an unkillable monster.
Where was Clogg now? Or Constance? Or even his Nuncle… the same Nuncle he'd condemned to a watery grave.
"It's not funny!" He wanted to snap, but his muzzle was sealed in a perpetual whimper. It wasn't funny! It was just another stupid joke. Surely Grollo was under the snakeskin, with Matiya balanced overhead. It wouldn't have been the first stupid joke the trio had pulled on him. Once Momchillo had lead him up to the attic, only for Matiya to jump out- covered head to tail to toe in flour. Fret had almost fallen out a window in fright, but the two had laughed all the same. The only bright side was that Matiya had been forced to wash before supper. Another time Momchillo had insisted that there was treasure underneath the abbey pond, Matiya had gone wild with excitement and had dragged both him and Grollo for a 'quick swim' that lasted most of the afternoon. The ferret had stunk so hard at supper that he'd been dragged off for a bath- not that that had helped much.
Why was it he always stunk? An odour all described as foul, but he knew not the identity of, had clung to him since infancy. He'd had more baths than the rest of the abbey youth put together, not that that had ever helped. In fact he was almost certain he'd come out stinking worse.
Constance had of course, never complained. Connington too, although he had always made a point to cover his nose in some 'discreet' way. It had gotten better over time, to the point where he was no longer dumped directly into boiling water every morning. Or perhaps they abbeybeasts had gotten used to it. Or given up on him… at the very least Connington had stopped covering his nose…
Perhaps children were immune to foul smells, but the rest of his generation had never really brought it up… not until he was older anyways. Then there had been no mercy, to the point that the pretty vole and her mole friend remained forever nameless, too high and mighty were they for the stinking fiend. The mean runt of their class.
He did not know how to explain his infatuation with the white-furred vole. It certainly wasn't love. It certainly wasn't just because she was pretty. After all, Fret and pretty things were not made for one another. No, he'd never cared about her dumb mole companion with her frustrating accent and she was arguably just as pretty.
But he remembered vividly that he'd stared at her for perhaps unhealthy amounts of time. He had never told Constance. He had never told Connington. Bella however, knew, and had always sternly reminded him that staring was rude. Grollo had called it love, and had always encouraged him to 'talk to her'. Thankfully the hedgehog had never done it within earshot of Matiya and Momchillo, but it had still irked the young ferret.
"I don't even know her name stupid!" Fret had snapped. And it wasn't love! Love was silly. Anyhow only Constance could love him.
It was longing. A longing to be accepted. To not be seen as the dirt on the back of one's sandal- something to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. By somebeast that was not Constance anyways. And where better to start than with a classmate he didn't even know the name of?
Once, when he'd been much more naive and considerably shorter, Abbot Martin had set them to picking flowers. Fret had picked up the largest dandelion his paws could find, intent on delivering it to the pretty vole, perhaps with a 'what's your name'. Of course, that had failed magnificently. The pollen had gotten into his nose, and he'd sneezed on her. Then Matiya and Momchillo had come crashing into him. From that moment onwards he'd kept his distance.
His life was full of such moments. Bitter disappointment and unfairness had gone paw in paw to make him miserable.
Once he had tried to make a cake for Constance. Matiya, Grollo and Momchillo had offered to help, but several disagreements later he'd been left on his own. Not that he had minded. Making a cake was easy. Mix flour, water and every sweet thing he could get his paws on in a bowl and bake it in an oven. Of course he'd fallen asleep while cooking and the result was a cake blacker than his fur. He'd wanted to throw it away, but the stupid Friar had refused to let him do so. Instead the fat hedgehog had peeled off the vast majority of Fret's doing and decorated the meager portion left with enough sweetened meadowcream and candied chestnuts to undo his mistake. Of course he'd also undid most of the ferret's cake. Sure it had looked better than anything he was capable of making, but that did not change the fact that it was no longer his doing.
Constance had loved it all the same, and even though he was sure that she knew that he hadn't done it, she'd still praised him for it. Unfortunately she'd also hugged him and he hated hugs…
A loud chuckle from somewhere nearby brought the ferret back to his senses, and no sooner had his eyes snapped open than the dreams had begun to fade away into the pit of memory from whence they had come.
Snakeskin was the source of the offending noise, at present flicking through a familiar-looking tome. If Fret had not just woken up he'd have recognised it as Clogg's. But as it was, with sleep needing to be rubbed thoroughly from his eyes, he only saw what could have been any other book.
"Mornin'." The stoat greeted, not lifting his eyes from the pages.
Fret stiffled a yawn but made no reply.
"This is an interestin' book." The stoat said, waving it for the ferret to see.
That was when Fret recognised it. His heart beat shot up faster than a thunderbolt and his mouth was open. But all that came out was a series of increasingly desperate 'er's and 'um's.
Snakeskin raised an eyebrow, a smirk traveling across his white-furred face. "I'm assumin' it's yers?"
"I- well- er, i-in a- y-n-no. N-never seen that b-before."
"That explains yer reaction." The stoat was now more interested than ever. "Where'd ye get it?"
"I-I stole it." This was only half a lie. Clogg hadn't exactly given it to him to keep, nor had the rat expected him to run away.
"Why?"
"I-er, i-it looked pretty." The ferret's eyes darted to where Momchillo lay snoozing blissfully.
"I don' think yer bein' 'onsest." Snakeskin sung, his grin wider than ever. "Go on ferret. What's this book to ye?"
"N-nothing! Absolutely nothing." Fret was sure he was being convincing. "I-I thought we could trade it for food. I-if we g-got hungry."
"Nothin', eh?"
Fret nodded.
The stoat closed it and hung the book perilously close to the fire. "So ye don' min' if I just dump this 'ere?"
"O-of course I d-don't."
Snakeskin feinted and Fret flinched.
"Yer lyin'." The stoat decided, lifting the tome safely away from the flames. "Now. I'm tryin' te be nice te my guests. But I don' like liars. Ye tell me the truth now or I fin' a snake ter feed ye to."
Fret swallowed. How had the stoat even gotten his paws over that book? It had never left his side… "I-I-"
"I'm sure somebeas'll fin' ye scrumptious."
Now the ferret whimpered, unable to tell whether or not the stoat's threat was to be taken lightly or not. Deciding that this was not something he ought to risk his life for, Fret relented. "It was a gift."
"From 'o? Don' forget the de'ails."
"Details." He swallowed again.
"The mouse doesn't know, does 'e?" The firelight cast strange shadows over Snakeskin, making him seem almost demonic.
"You won't tell Momchillo?"
"On my 'onour as an 'unter."
"Well, er- it's- a long story."
"Son, I don' got anythin' better te do. Now start talkin', I ain't as patien' as I used te be."
"Okay. Well. You know how me and Momchillo escaped slavery?"
"Mhmmm."
"I- I wasn't exactly a slave." A quick glance at Momchillo confirmed that the mouse was still asleep. Fret dared not think what might happen if he learned the truth. Luckily he did not have to worry about that... Yet anyways. "I was their… guest."
"Why?"
"B-b-because I-I- Because they thought I was somebeast important."
"And 'o did they think ye were?"
"I-I-I-"
"That's a pretty silly name."
"Some warlord's son."
"Which one?"
"I-I- don't know the name. I forgot."
"Mayhaps this'll jog yer memory." Snakeskin flicked through the book till he came upon the page with Fret's supposed parents.
"Mad-Eye Martha, eh?" A claw was jabbed at Marik's face.
"Momchillo doesn't know about this." Fret pointed out. "He was just making stuff up."
"So… are ye his son?"
"I-I- don't know. The only parent I remember is C-constance." He swallowed. There was a cold glint in Snakeskin's eyes now. A kind of hatred that made Fret shiver.
"Hmm… I knew Marik. Was 'is mate."
"Okay." The ferret rubbed at his chest and provided a nervous chuckle and changed the subject. "So- you're not going to say anything t-to-"
"Momchillo? Nah. I'll just ask 'im 'o gave 'im such a dumb name. An', son of Marik. What's yer name?"
"F-fret."
"Fufret? Who gave ye that name? Is it even a name?"
"It is." Fret snapped indigantly. "And it's Fret. Just Fret."
"Still a stupid name."
"Better than Snakeskin." The ferret muttered.
"An' 'oo exactly gave ye this book?"
"Clogg." Fret replied. Despite his initial discomfort, he found that talking about it all wasn't so bad.
"'Oo?"
"Trammun Clogg."
"Never 'eard of 'im." The stoat declared.
"There's a picture of him." He pointed at the book, which Snakeskin handed to him. A short amount of flicking lead to Clogg. He had not spent much time staring at the rat's picture, after all, he'd had the real thing for most of his time in the Northlands. But, just like all the others, it was incredibly realistic and resembled every inch of the rat from the tip of his tail to the edge of his whiskers.
He handed the tome of portraits back to Snakeskin with a nervous glance in Momchillo's direction. The mouse could awaken at any moment. There was also the possibility that the rodent was faking sleep. Fret broke into a sweat, and his fears of the mouse returning to consciousness were increased a hundredfold when laughter exploded from the stoat's chest.
"Clogg? Is that what 'e's callin' 'imself? Hahahahahahahahaha! What a- what a plonker! Hahahaha! This is too good! Too good!"
"Er- what is?"
"I knew this 'ere rat as Whimper. He was a runt see, family kicked 'im out after 'e murdered 'is brother. Min' ye, that arse deserved it. Anywho, 'e was freezin' te death one day when Marik an' 'is girl decided ter pity 'im. Next thin' ye know 'e was followin' them everywhere. Me, Marik, Slit an' Whimper. So 'ow is Marik these days? Did 'Cloggy' mention it?"
"Oh, er, y-yeah M-Marik's dead." Fret scratched awkwardly at his neck, unsure how Snakeskin would react to this turn of events.
The stoat seemed delighted by this news, and with another hearty laugh, slapped his knee. "Guess I outlived the big bully! What about Slit? Whimpy's obviously still kickin' bu-"
"She's dead too." Fret tried to word it as best he could, but there was no way to say those words without being blunt.
"Shame." Snakeskin shook his head, his grin clashing viciously with his words. " Liked 'er a lot I did. Course she 'ad it comin'."
For the first time in a very long time, Fret was overwhelmed with curiosity. This was not Whimper's constant questioning, which had only been the result of utter confusion. This was a thirst for knowledge he'd never quite felt before. He had often asked how Constance had found him, why she's taken him in- but the mouse was cunning and had given him vague answer after vague answer. Of course that had only made him ask more. But she was cleverer and eventually had always answered with 'because I love you'. The soppiness of the words- irrespective of how heartwarming they had been at times- had put an end to such questioning.
But sitting before him was a well of information. If he could just tap into Snakeskin's mind a little bit he would know more about Marik and Slit-throat and a side to Clogg he had never considered before. Whimper, but wasn't he Whimper?
"So... am I their son?" Of course this was the first question. It was the one he wanted to know most of all. In his mind it was inextricably anbd inexplicably linked to where he belonged.
"Yer not mine, that's fer certain." The stoat chuckled but noted the desperate longing in the ferret's eyes and handed Fret the book. "I'm afraid I can' answer that. We 'ad a fallin' out of sorts. Didn' know they 'ad any sons. Well Marik 'ad one or two, but they'd be older. Anyhow ye don' look a thin' like 'im. There's a bit of Slit in ye but..." He shook his head and shrugged. "She never stammered. If I 'ad te tell ye 'o yer parent's were I'd name the mouse what raised ye. Blood ain't nowhere near as thick as walls."
Fret's face fell. Apparently he would not be receiving answers anytime soon. Perhaps the next time he saw Constance she would tell him. If he ever did get to see her again... anyhow she probably wouldn't want to see him...
At that moment Momchillo yawned to life and sitting up groggily, blinked existence back into his eyes. "Morning."
"Pshaw! Late afternoon more like! Get up mouse! There's a thousan' leagues from 'ere te Redwall. An' ye ain't gonna get there sittin' on yer arse. 'Urry up we 'aven't got all day!"
Snakeskin's words brought Momchillo swiftly to his feet. The mouse's face was bright with excitement and for the first time in a long time he looked as young as he was. "You're taking us South?"
"As far south as I know lad. Ye'll still 'ave a lon' journey a'ead of ye, but at leas' ye won' be dead on my doorstep."
Footnote: A short-ish chapter but I've written shorter. Yet somehow this one was such a pain to write. The dream sequences I did in about an hour since Fret's life in Redwall is just easy.
The other half I didn't know what to do with. I needed the chapter to end with Snakeskin announcing them going South (so that I, in turn, could go back South) but getting there was complicated. At first I had multiple renditions of 'Fret and Momchillo argue' but we've had about four chapters dedicated to how and why they don't like each other (plus it would really mess up Momchillo's arc up till now). Then I decided 'Fret got swallowed whole, let's make him loose his fur for comedic purposes', then that turned into a heated argument. Then it turned into a really long conversation that rushed through their entire conflict and was kind of heartwarming but ultimately detrimental to mine plans (muahahahaha) so I had to cut it (but I have it saved if I need to use it later on). So, what the heck, I decided to go for snippets of Snakeskin's backstory plus a bit more on Clogg and Marik and Slit-throat.
Ironically it means that Momchillo has slept through two important conversations at this point. Going to have to turn that into a running gag XD