A/N: Hehehehe, glad you all noticed that there was a point behind Momchillo's abuse- I don't always torture my characters but when I do (okay, I always do) it's for a reason. I was a little worried you guys might not pick up on it or rather that the meaning would be lost under all the other interesting developments of the chapter (the bear! A bear! Yay! Bears amiright?) but you all seemed to have figured it out and I didn't have to beat you over the head with it (double yay!)
Also for those of you unawares (so... maybe none of you?) I have started a Drabble collection. It is called Black and White Drabbles and you may find it on my profile.
Now ahem, more detailed responses.
Waycaster: I wouldn't say Momchillo is scared of heights per say, just that he is *very* high up (technically he's still underground, but the drop is rather large so he'd technically higher now than he's ever been. It doesn't help that Snakeskin isn't the most responsible of vermin and that he has no idea of what's waiting for them there. Figurative and literal nightmare is correct :D
AlexFalTalon: Momchillo's development is honestly a little bit hard to write. Which is probably why it's coming so slowly... That said I think i'm doing a good job so far. Also note that the bat sisters are basically the otter twins- how's that for a parralel? Plus it's fun to victimize him XD Not saying he deserves it per say- but it does help with perspective.
Snakeskin deals with snakes. He takes literally everything from their dead bodies (which is probably why you don't want to know where he gets his fur from o.0) including the poison if they are a poisonous snake. And there's a bear. Which is causing troubles for the bats.
Abrahem: Sorry, I don't know much about the Space Race/Cold War. If my comments were unfounded forgive me.
Yeah... it's been a while. Glad the bats surprised someone. The 'eek, eek, eek' might be the case but Brian is the one who came up with bat speech so if I have any credit in this regard its because of him. Not sure what his inspiration was but I put it down to echolocation (they repeat words to get a better 'image' of who they're talking to, since bats are blind).
Yes... he had... offspring... Decide based on that what you will. The Snake Skull is actually very important later on, for reasons you shall see... ages from now... but I needed something to cover his face and Snakeskin was there so...
I can look for it I guess (never heard of Solomon Kane before), although if you could give me the name of the fic...
Hope the project goes well! (Throw a nod at Fret while you're at it XD)
Snakeskin... isn't a musician. And this isn't a Disney movie so neither is Momchillo. We might get more of Maggie May but we'll have to wait for me to figure out exactly where to dump it.
SPOILERS FOR GAME OF THRONES!
I... loved it! And it broke my heart but okay. Honestly didn't think Edd needed to go (he's so funny in the books! "Stay back he's got blue eyes!") but shock deaths are GoTs specialty so okay. Lyanna Mormont, while not my favourite (I kinda predicted her death a week earlier) had a badass exit if ever there was one. Beric Dondarion... I pegged him for dead too but didn't expect to be as sad as I was. Geez. Jorah Mormont... again, never the biggest fan of him, but ever since he stopped hitting on Dany he grew on me. And then they killed him. Dammit I liked his voice!
And then Theon Greyjoy... Oh boy! He was always one of my favourite characters. To some extent I think he deserved the Ramsay treatment (not *all* of it but he did get Robb killed so...) but his self-conflicted attitude and the complexities of his character (Fret is based off of him, as you well know)... Plus he was great this season! Rescued Yara effortlessly, went to Winterfell on good terms with both of his families (that Sansa hug... I shipped them...) and died protecting Bran. "You're a good man." Still makes my eyes water!
I predicted his death mind you, but I was kind of hoping he'd take out the Night King doing it (how's that for redemption!) I don't mind that Arya did it (because Arya is, has and always will be kewl... even if I do wish she had a bit more of her older personality and they had built up her and Gendry's romantic relationship a teensy bit more). And of course, knowing he was gonna die and seeing him die are two very different things. Yara's reaction is gonna be fun! Ina like... sad... way.
I still kind of wish he stood up at the end, ripped the spear out and said 'What is dead may never die'. But alas...
I also think Davos should have killed Mel. Don't get me wrong she kinda saved the day with the trench, but she kind of also got away with burning Shireen... I personally would have given Stannis' death a callback. She walks out of Winterfell, passes Davos a sword, turns to him and says 'Do your duty'. Davos pauses then swings and cut to black.
I was a little surprised that Brienne, Tormund, Podrick (YAY!) and Grey Worm (I thought he would be the first death...) survived, but I think the show is trying to ease us into a false sense of security- the real shit is coming soon (pardon my language... although you watch Game of Thrones so it shouldn't really bother you...)
So yeah, I thought it was amazing (but where the hell is Ghost! Direwolves are cool!)
END OF SPOILERS!
Hehehehe, glad that little factoid helped out. Now I can advertise my story as educational! Definitely not plagiarism (it's not like I own biological facts, now is it?)
Perceptive as always, Snakeskin had more than one child. As to who/what/where they are...
Yeah... the Sonic movie is really going through the ringer... the pore hedgehog deserved better... even if he looks nothing like a real hedgehog XD
Berserker88: Sharpfur's story is indeed the most tragic (in my opinion). At the moment he thinks he's lost his entire family (minus now Greyclaw- but now Greyclaw's a mouse). Explaining the reasoning was a little challenging but you did get the gist of it. I don't think it's solely that he's changing that's the issue- but he doesn't really have much choice in as far as the change is concerned. If his family were with him, for example, he might feel a bit less conflicted. For example, the changing of his ways may feel like he's betraying them and their way of life. There's a lot going on around him and he can't feasibly process all of it. So he goes to extremes- because only vermin deal in absolutes- dresses like a hare, and then *that* leads to further disaster leaving him with another thing to process. On top of that he's got a very complicated relationship with his two friends. On the one hand they manipulate him and they do spend a lot of time arguing, but they are all he's got at this point.
I think that his changing is one issue, and how much the world around him is changing is another issue- and there are a lot of issues between the two of those things so Sharpfur is left with a bunch of emotions, thoughts and feelings that he can't really deal with because they're so many of them and they came out of nowhere.
Overdid the tic- hehehehe, yes, yes, yes. And it is meant to be a little bit obnoxious. I did think of Mr Montapue (pew?) (although thankfully his tic is far less... annoying...). But there were bats in Mossflower and one other Redwall book (I can't remember which one) and they all had the bat talk. Think of it in the same way all moles speak in 'ois' and 'moins' and hares saying 'wot' like there's no tomorrow. I May have dramatically increased the bat-talk (pretty sure it's just the last syllable in the books, rather than the whole last word) for the sake of making them buggy- but I do like Snakeskin's line (it's almost an author's note really. "Bugs me too, but bats like bugs they do.")
Their sole purpose may be to teach Momchillo a lesson, and they may be annoying, but as Abrahem pointed out, they're not trying to be mean- they're just overly enthusiastic and Momchillo is small.
Overly-long author's note... aside...
Bartok felt sweat drip down his face, off his ears and really from everywhere. He was sweating and he was sweating profusely. A constant 'drip, drip, drip' followed his frantic flapping, as if a leaking bucket were attached to his legs.
Chief Snap was a good chief every way one looked at it. He had an heir and a spare (or rather two heirs) in his possession, which meant the bat clans would face no succession crisis. Under his rule they had flourished, coming up with new ways to attract bugs and insects of every kind for his tribe to feast on. By not killing some beetles, and even nurturing a few choice specimens (and giving them plenty of guano to do with as bugs did) he had ensured a lasting food supply that could last from early autumn to late summer if need be. Their supply of flies, worms, beetles, and larvae of various types, had not run out in several seasons.
Everything had changed with the bear's arrival. As big as a horde of rats, with the strength of twenty beasts. Great gaping jaws and sharp fangs that would make a wolverine whimper. Claws as sharp and cold as spear tips it had roared and roared, demanding food- lest it smash a way through the tunnels and make a meal of bat. It had even somehow gotten it's overly large paws on some unfortunate bats. They had probably been eaten by now...
Snap had provided as much food as could be spared, and that had solved the problem for perhaps half a day. The bear had returned, demanding even more. And more, and more, and more, until the bats were rationed to a bowl of worms each and nothing more. That was when the Chief made his next move to ensure the survival of their clan. If they gave away all the grubs there would be nothing to eat, but surely a bear could eat more than measly insects? So, each day when the bear did it's roaring, Snap would send his bats to find it some flesh, and another, chosen at random, to give themselves up if nothing else could satisfy the beast.
None of the chosen bats had returned so far, and much to the grey bat's horror, today he'd been unfortunate enough to draw the shortest straw.
Bartok had no choice. He had to find something. He'd spent much of the morning searching for anything remotely edible, but any tunnel that wasn't empty only had snake skulls, and fur blankets. He had considered running away, but then the bear would murder his tribe. He had considering giving the bear his rations- but Snap had put a stop to that.
"The bear will eat you anyways, ways, ways." The chief had said to the eighth bat chosen. "If you're going to die, die, die, don't waste food, food, food."
He had considered sneaking into the grubbery- but Snap had that under lock and key after the third desperate bat had tried the same trick. He'd been a clever bat, the third one, cleverer than Bartok. And he was gone now.
In other words Bartok was doomed. One more tunnel, tunnel, tunnel. He kept repeating to himself. If there was nothing there he'd go and give himself up. It was better that he die than the clan. Eventually, with less bats to feed, Chief Snap could give the bear all the bugs it wanted, and still have enough to keep his tribe alive.
It was such a shame Bartok would not be alive to see that day...
Sighing despairingly, and barely stifling a sob, Bartok turned into his final 'last tunnel'. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of half-eaten flesh, then he flapped towards it. Not a big piece of meat by any standard, and certainly not good enough for a bear. The grey bat felt his ears, his heart, his stomach- really everything- sag in defeat. He was doomed. There was nothing left but to accept his fate... as a bear's lunch.
It was as he turned to leave that he heard a tiny, muffled whimper coming from under a pile of blankets.
"Hello, hello, hello?" He whispered, and his echos bounced off the walls and back until he saw it. A pair of feetpaws sticking out of the pile.
Hopping as silently as he could towards it, he proceeded to carefully pull out the sleeping beast. Bartok expected claws and fangs and a fight. Instead the snoozing vermin gave him a sleepy 'But I don't want a baff...".
The ferret was not much smaller than him, but much younger. A large bubble of guilt swelled within him, but Bartok popped it determinedly. It was him or this unknown vermin and Bartok would not go to his grave. Not today.
One talon grabbed the ferret by the tail, the other by the scruff of it's neck. Flapping as silently and as carefully as he could (the last thing he wanted was for the ferret to wake up now and start clawing everything) Bartok felt hope begin to glow within him.
Perhaps he would see another sunrise...
Fret had raked the ground all the way from the orchard to the bathhouse.
He hadn't been rolling in the mud, it was just a little bit of dirt. His fur was always scruffy! No his paws were not sticky with sugar, that was definitely not how he'd torn up his copy of the History of Mossflower. He didn't smell so bad! Grollo was worse! And Matiya and Momchillo had been rolling in the mud!
But she never listened to his excuses, just waited patiently as the soapy bubbles formed over the boiling water. Then, when fully satisfied she would drop him inside like a dirty rag and wait for him to inevitably resurface.
He did so, spluttering and complaining about the heat of the water and trying to climb out, but Bella was ready and would dunk him unceremoniously down once more.
He'd rise begging for mercy, with bubbles growing from his nose. But the Badgermum never listened. "You still smell like vermin. Here, I'll wash it off, off, off." A brush the size of a club descended with unnecessary force, and drove him to the bottom of the bucket, where he lay holding his breath for as long as he could. The brush's hairs raked across his back for what seemed like an eternity and soon he was struggling to breathe. But Bella did not stop until the very last moment, when all hope seemed lost. He was lifted out of the bath, gasping for breath, and placed before a mirror.
He was pudgier than he ever remembered being, and the furs along his back stuck out like the quills of a hedgehog. But Bella was not satisfied. His fur was still black and white, his claws still sharp and his mask still present.
Snatching a sponge, she was even more thorough this time. She washed behind the ears, between his toes and even stretched his tail with soap until all the black and white fur had fallen off to reveal raw, red flesh. It hurt. His whole form seemed to be burning as if on fire.
Once more he was placed before the mirror. Bright red and with a tail puffy from being dried he looked ever-so-slightly like a squirrel. But that would not do! He still smelled like a ferret and his teeth were sharp.
A toothbrush was the Badgermum's next weapon of choice. It was one so large he threatened to gag on it. The skin over his cheeks strained from the pressure of the moving bulge, until finally it was withdrawn. But she was not done with him and once more flung him into the boiling water. It stung like a hive of bees and made him want to cry out in agony. But the Badgermum never listened and lifting him up, proceeded to bend and fold, twist and turn, stretch and shrink him until she slammed him down a final time before the mirror.
A mouse, a bright-red, bushy-tailed, spiky-furred and long-whiskered mouse stared back at him. His fangs replaced by a pair of dull incisors. His claws rendered dull, his black and white fur peeled clean off. All that remained of him was the black mask over his eyes aside from that there was no trace left of ferret.
But Bella was still not satisfied! "I can still smell the vermin, vermin, vermin!" She cried, and slammed him into the mirror. Fret, stared at his reflection and was relieved to find himself again. But the relief did not last long. Bella had him by the scruff once more, over a bucket. Yet the water was hotter here. Red hot, like melted iron and Fret squirmed in her grasp.
"Please! P-please no! No! I'll be good I-"
"Bath time vermin, vermin, vermin." Was all she said, plunging him into the water with avengeance.
The water was icy cold and the sudden jolt woke Fret up faster than a bolt of lightning could have. Instinctively he beat at the water in frenzied panic, trying and failing to overcome the mighty current.
"Momch-" His cry for help was abruptly cut short by his lack of swimming ability. He had never been fond of the abbey pond (with his stink any excursions there would result in a bath), but even if he had been the calm, still waters there was nothing at all like the roaring current carrying him away. His tail was numb from cold and his crazed paddling was all he could do to keep his head above the surface.
What was going on? He'd been asleep only moments before! Had Snakeskin sold them out? Or was this some kind of joke? Where was Momchillo?Perhaps all the ice had melted?
He panicked once more as a dark shadow swept over him. Yet raising his eyes for a fraction of a second his hopes soared. A curious, long-eared, flat-nosed beast flew ahead not far above him. If he could just get it's attention...
"Hey! h-e-ack! HELP!"
His hopes dropped faster than his ears did when the bat began to snicker.
"Sorry vermin, vermin, vermin!" The creature shrieked over the sound of rushing water. "Bear wants meat, meat, meat! Has to eat, eat, eat. Better vermin than bat, bat, bat! BYE, BYE, BYE!" The creature's relieved cackle was drowned out by sudden roaring, and Fret felt his heart drop through Hellgates, for he was now headed directly towards a waterfall.
He was stiff for a full five seconds before trying his hardest to paddle against the current. His claws raked and and tore at the river, but it was no good. He was nearing the edge now, far too quickly.
"Ferret smashed to bits, bits bit!" The bat cheered as Fret screamed.
"So Fret's parents are in that book? Or is that their diary?" The mouse had resolved to be nicer to Fret. Even if the ferret was at him most intolerable, Momchillo vowed he would tolerate him. That did not mean he was not curious.
"Stop talkin' about the book. 'E might be awake an' 'e might 'ear this an' then 'e'll be all grumpy."
"He's always grumpy." Momchillo pointed out before he could stop himself. Old habits died hard but he really would have to start thinking before he said something.
"I know that. But ye'd be two if ye were in 'is position."
"How does he even know who his parents are? Wait- did he meet them?" His brain got to work building up this new theory. Fret had been separated from him and the Honest Bunch despite being in the same castle, had his parents arranged that? But if his real parents were at the castle, why had Fret gone with him? Surely the ferret would have turned him away if the the Lands of Ice and Snow was where he belonged. He had had ample opportunity to turn him in even, but had gone for a book instead of guards... "His parents aren't nice are they?" It was the simplest solution.
"Not one bit." Snakeskin admitted. "If they are 'is real parents that is. Not even 'e knows."
Well... that theory seems unlikely now... Yet the mere mention of parents stirred another memory inside the mouse, one from earlier today. "So... how are your kids?"
Snakeskin hastily stiffened, as if struck by a whip. And the agonized expression that came and went from him, made Momchillo regret his curiosity.
"They're good." The stoat said, in a tone that suggested the opposite.
Momchillo did not pursue the topic and was silenced.
His head spinning with Fret and the ferret's parents, Snakeskin and the stoat's children and the bats, the mouse was glad to arrive back in the comfort of the nursery tunnel.
The ferret was likely still asleep, and Momchillo made no move to wake him. Snakeskin on the other paw, did. Pouncing upon the pile of blankets with an unnecessary cackle, the white furred stoat rubbed at the blankets where Fret's head should have been.
"Wake up Frettie! It's time fur breakfis'! Ye thought snakes were bad? Wait till ye get a taste of bee'le!" Nothing in the blankets seemed to stir. Snakeskin grumbled and began throwing them off one by one. "I know ye need yer beau'y sleep but Vulpuz an' 'ellgates Fret ye need te-" The stoat threw the last blanket off and found nothing but cold ice beneath it.
Momchillo felt his stomach sink. This was most definitely not good...
"Idiots, idiots, idiots!" Somebeast was saying, but Fret could not see who or what they were. It was an entirely new voice, thick and gravelly, almost like croaking. The ferret was relieved to find himself alive- perhaps the waterfall had just been a nightmare?
"The whole point of this operation is to get grubs! Worms! Nice, sweet, tasty beetles! Something I can eat! Does it look like I can eat ferret?" The ferret, still dazed, felt something warm and sticky wrap around his head. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and if he wasn't as disorientated as he was he'd have been squirming like a fly in a web... although that was perhaps not the best of similes. "Web? Duh-bit?"
"Actually I'm pretty sure you could. He's not a big creature and you've already got his head in your mou-"
"IDIOT!" There came the loud sound of clanging, as if some expensive goblet had been thrown. "Look at my tongue! Lookatit! See that? Fur! Fur, fur, fur, fur everywhere!"
"Well if you don't want to eat it, I cou-"
A smack as loud as a thunderclap echoed through the air. "He's mine for eating! But I don't want him! I didn't want the other things too! What am I supposed to do with a beaver? And I can't eat bats either! Stupid beasts! Okay, listen up! Here's the plan. We leave the cave, stomp up the waterfall, roar a bit and wait for that idiot bat to show his ugly face- then we demand bugs not beasts."
There was vast cheering that told Fret there were more than two beasts in the room.
"What do we do with the vermin then?"
Fret felt himself stiffen in fear. Feeling was returning to his form but he was still too weak to open his eyes. Another of his senses, however, made itself of use to him.
The scent was unfamiliar, ruling out anybeast from Redwall or Clogg's crew. It was strong and pungent and set his nose to uncomfortable twitching. An earthy kind of acid clung to the air, like mud to a habit. Fret had never been to a swamp before but this, he imagined, was what a swamp smelt like.
"We could try and eat him." A third voice, even deeper than the first two, suggested. "Put this in his mouth and roast it slowly over a fire. My ma used to do that to vermin."
This suggestion brought much excitement and Fret, too weak to resist, felt what was no doubt an apple get shoved into his mouth. Something wet and sticky was dumped over his head and faintly he caught a whiff of salt and pepper. A dozen slimy arms slid over his form, like the tentacles of a kraken. A singularly unpleasant experience, and one he very much wanted to get away from.
This was followed almost immediately by spitting, coughing and spluttering. Which told Fret that it most likely hadn't been arms liking him...
"Gah! Fur! It's stuck to my tongue! It's stuck!"
"It tastes disgusting!"
"Like dung!"
"Smells like dung too!"
"Very yucky!"
"Put it with the others?"
"And waste more food on it?"
"Let's just kill it!"
This too, was met with roars of approval, but all Fret could bring himself to do was screw his eyes shut tighter and shrivel up in fear.
"NOOOOOOO! You will not slit his throat!" Fret breathed in relief. "The blood would ruin that pretty cloak. Take it off, and then kill him."
The ferret felt as the beautiful, black-scaled cloak Snakeskin had made for him was pulled off. Something, or somebeast incredibly strong lifted him off the ground by the throat. It was not going to choke him of course, but the positioning made neck-snapping much easier.
Fret opened his eyes blearily. Despite the dangerous predicament he was in and all the instincts he had ever obeyed telling him to panic, Fret was too tired to do anything beyond be exhausted.
"It's awake!" Said the beast holding him, who looked very much like a blob of brown. Almost as if a two-season old mole had drawn it.
"Is it? Hmm, maybe he's important. Don't kill him yet!"
Fret was shoved rather forcefully into a chair. His eyes came into focus and he felt the panicked heartbeats he was all too familiar with, return in force. He was surrounded by toads.
The one that had been holding him was the ugliest being Fret had ever seen. Tall and thin and brown, with too many warts to count. It wore nothing but a loincloth and was shivering from this rather unintelligent decision. The creature Fret assumed to be the chief was the second ugliest. Covered in warts and with breath like poison, he was short and fat, yet seemed big enough to swallow him. Thankfully he hadn't tried that. Presently the chief was struggling to squeeze into a cloak made for somebeast of much smaller size.
It took him nearly eight minutes.
The cloak successfully tied, the toad posed for his followers to admire him and Fret hated the creature, perhaps more than he'd hated anybeast. The cheering subsided and the chief toad sat back upon a throne of bones.
"So vermin." He said casually, as if he were talking to a friend and not a captive. Let alone one he'd covered in honey and tried to swallow. "Do you think it suits me?" He indicated the cloak. "Pretty thing like this shouldn't be wasted on a furbody anyways."
Despite his strong inclination to do so, Fret knew better than to tell him that he looked stupid, and that no matter what he wore his face was the problem. Thankfully the ferret still had his survival instincts. And an apple stuck to his teeth.
"So who are you? What are you doing in my tunnels? And most importantly for you, why shouldn't I just k-"
"If we peeled the fur off and roasted it I bet he'd taste like sparrow." Another toad mused.
"Don't be ridiculous. He'd taste like fish."
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M INTERROGATING HIM!? QUIET ALL OF YOU!" The toad turned back to Fret expectantly. After a full five minutes of growing impatient he finally snapped. "Well?"
Fret would have answered, his life was on the line after all, but there was the small issue of having an apple in his mouth. The toad must have noticed, for he gave his webbed fingers a wet snap and the apple was removed.
"Name vermin." He growled once more. As if the delay in information-receiving was somehow his fault.
Here the ferret paused. Fret had been his name for longer but there was always the chance the amphibians had heard of Mad-Eye Marik, in which case Whimper might serve him better...
"Your name!" The fat toad demanded, his multiple chins wriggling as he banged a fist into the side of his throne.
Frightened as he was, Fret did not waste the time he still had left and replied. "F-fret."
The frog (Fret did not know the difference between frogs and toads, having never met either beforepaw) came uncomfortably close, determined to make this experience as unpleasant as possible. Weak as he was, it was a miracle Fret did not pass out from the smell of his breath. "So... Fufret. Know why you're here?"
The ferret's mind scrambled for an explanation. But he had not a clue as to the desired answer and thinking about it gave him a headache. Staying awake was all he could manage.
"Answer me!" The toad snapped, spittle flying out it's wide, toothless mouth and all around the young ferret.
"I-I don't." The ferret admitted, trying to tear his nose away from the stench. It was thick enough to knock him out if he wasn't careful. A few more whiffs of the creature and he'd be down for the count. And then his life was forfeit. The toad grew closer and Fret whimpered and shut his eyes. His head burned, as if ready to split open.
Thankfully the toad pulled back, threw it's head high into the air and cackled with mad laughter. "This one's scared! Hahahahah! We have a scared little vermin now boys!"
The toads guffawed, and Fret felt a tingling sensation begin to crawl up his arms and legs. Soon he would be able to move again...
When they were done laughing the chief toad began flourishing his cape. Or rather Fret's stolen cloak. "This is fine clothing." He twisted a scale between two fat fingers. "Where'd you steal it?"
"I didn't." Fret snapped, before he could stop himself. The toad's face contorted in rage. "I-I- it was a gift!"
The amphibian continued to glower at him. "A gift from who? And where'd they steal it? No vermin could have possibly made a cloak this comfortable!" Snakeskin would have something interesting to say about that... "Tis fit for a king!"
"My father's a warlord." Fret replied, knowing that Snakeskin would have something to say about that as well. "He gave it to me."
"Warlord, eh?" The toad's eyes were narrowed in consideration. "This... warlord... he doesn't happen to want you dead by any chance?"
Fret's heartbeat shot up again. "H-he's my father. O-of course not."
"He's lying." Decided one toad, the same one that had lifted him off the ground. "He's a runt. A scrawny orphan who got his paws on something valuable."
"I'm not lying! M-my father would p-pay for my freedom in- in anything!" This was a lie. Fret had never known his father, and even if it was Marik he was probably still lying. What kind of warlord's son winded up in his positions anyways? Besides, Longclaw was a King and wouldn't have raised a strand of fur to save his own son were Bork in his position. Of course if Bork was in this position he'd likely be tearing through everybeast present.
"Prove it!" Demanded the chief toad.
"I-I-er-" Fret had been distracted by his thoughts. Constance would have payed for his freedom in anything back when he was a dibbun. Now though, after all he'd done...
"He's lying." The tall toad said, drawing a knife.
"Mad-Eye Marik!" Fret shouted before the blade came anywhere near him. "My father is Mad-Eye Marik and if you er- g-get word to him he-he- he'll send a ransom." His ears rose and fell repeatedly, praying that they fell for this ploy.
"He made that name up." The tall toad accused. "He made it all up!"
"No he didn't!" The fat toad glared at him. "This is why I'm in charge! You've got no brains Longtongue! Mad-Eye Marik is a real and mighty warlord and you wouldn't want to cross him." The fat amphibian turned back to the ferret. "My only question is this, how much are you worth to him?"
"I-I-I'm his-er heir." Despite the strength of his panic, Fret felt some semblance of confidence slowly return to him. The chief was buying it, never mind that Marik was dead. If word got to Clogg, he was safe, if he somehow managed to escape, he was safe... and if they found out he'd lied to them he was doomed. Unless Momchillo and Snakeskin came to his rescue... which was unlikely even if they were still alive.
"Mad-Eye Marik will get his son back." The fat toad promised, a cruel smile on his face. "But how will he know we're not lying? We need proof that we have you. A finger? An eye? Your tail?"
Fret's hopes came crashing down like a bird with a broken wing, and his horror, visible and apparent, made the toads cackle in glee. The chief withdrew a small knife and grabbed Fret by the wrist.
"So which finger would you like to loose?"
This could not be happening. It wasn't real. This was a nightmare. A joke. A cruel prank. He wanted to cry, to curl up his toes and his form and just get away from it all. Life could not even let him sleep without loosing a finger.
"Maybe the pinky, eh? Not too big, nobeast'll even kno-"
"Wait! Wait, wait- I-if you harm a f-fur on my f-form." The ferret said, his voice and his form quivering in fright. "My f-father will f-flay the lot of you." He swallowed heavily. "Y-you could s-send a-a-a, I could sign your letter for you!"
"A letter?" The Chief sounded intrigued. He turned to his fellow toads. "I told you he was a warlord's son. How else would he know to write?"
There was a murmur of agreement amongst the swamp dwellers and Fret allowed himself a tiny breath of relief. His fingers were safe for now.
"Warthog!" The fat toad shouted, and a toad as ugly as the rest of them, but covered in vile, swollen spots of green, appeared from the crowd. "You will take a few strands of fur as proof of his capture." Fret winced as a few strands of fur were plucked none-too-gently from his tail. It was better than loosing a finger, he supposed. "Tell this warlord that we will will return his son in good health if he gives us eight times his weight in bugs and beetles!"
Warthog bowed. "Where will I find this warlord?"
"Longclaw's castle." Fret replied, having expected the question.
"Castle?" The chief toad's wide lips spread into a toothless grin. "Make it twenty times his weight!"
The amphibious fiends cheered wildly and Warthog bowed one more and left to do as he was bid.
"Longtongue, take Fufret, Son of Mad-Eye Marik and put him with the others. Swampbreath, guard the door!" The toad turned around and grabbed Fret by the muzzle. "No harm will come to you ferret. You have the word of Chief Slimegut of the Yellowbellies!" Snickering, the toad pressed himself even closer. "But you're not going home anytime soon!"
Fret could not take it any more. His heartbeat was too uneven, his nose was too sensitive, his body too weak and the stench too powerful. The world was going black.
Footnote: Feels like forever since I put a footnote here at the end... Ahem.
Bartok the bat is named after a character from a 1999 (I think that's the year anyways) movie called Anastasia about the Russian princess. I needed a name and Bartok is a) associated with bats and b) Redwallian. I know what he did is technically evil, but don't judge him too harshly. Bats are neither vermin nor woodlander (technically neither are froggies) so he fits neatly into morally grey. He's not an important character, but I needed Fret to wind up with the froggies and didn't want to just start with the dream sequence. So yeah.
Now for the bear in the room...
No bears here XD I know I said on the forum that I wanted one- and I did- but there was no way to put one that didn't over-complicate the plot. But I promised you toads, didn't I? (Frogs but whatever). I still want to use one mind, but it'll probably have to wait for a sequel.
Next chapter we get introduced to another Redwall species! Because bats aren't enough and I wanted bears buuuut BEAVERS! :D