A/N: WarthogOne-Eye: You are... But it is out of character for you to say that :P

Waycaster: It would be a good book! But... I doubt Warthog's reading ability...

Yeah, maybe I'll write a drabble about it (although, realistically isn't Bork the one more likely to hunt bugs and beetles to free some vermin child? Read 'more likely' rather than 'is the type to'- Bork would probably grab Warthog by the leg and take him to Slimegut)

Yeah Fleetfoot was fun to write... but as you will see...

Abrahem:Yup it's a rotting tail. The whole 'attachable fox tail' thing is inspired by Plugg Firetail from... I think it was Triss but I'm not sure. I haven't read it but he had a stoat and a rat hold up his tail so that it didn't drag along the ground. I made it ever-so-slightly more morbid methinks.

Does Longclaw care about verminkind? Not really. Does he care about vermin children? Well if his treatment of Bork is any indication... no. No he doesn't. If he really wanted to he could send a few good fighters to rescue the ferret and slay the toads. Yet he's more than happy leaving 'Fufret' to rot amidst the Bog-dwellers and potentially loose body parts. That said, he is a Vermin King. He can't let a toad walk over any of his kind. That's his job. Hence the 'whatever you do to him, we do to you' attitude he takes. I'm glad you thought he was cool! He hasn't had much to do this story so I'm hoping to rectify that a little bit because he does make a pretty awesome villain (and he's fun to write).

Eh don't worry about Warthog. We'll see him again... Or whatever's left of him anyways ;)

We won't be getting back to Fret for a while unfortunately (lots of other stuff to get through) but I do have some ideas on how to incorporate a Monkey's Fist... Though I think it might be called something else in Redwall. I doubt Monkeys exist here...

*Is secretly glad you asked because I want to brag* My farm is something of a petting zoo to be honest. A er- highly disorganized petting zoo mind. We currently have six cows, one bull, four goats (one is male the others are gals), four turkeys, three peacocks and one sheepdog. We had a lamb but they were sickly and sadly passed earlier this year. The sheepdog was lonely. We also have about ten or so beehives (do not pet the bees). Hmmm... I think for the vegetarian question it's best to just list what I don't eat. Mushrooms, meat, fish, eggses and that's it. All of the cows are dairy cows but only one of them gives milk (and has been doing so for the past year- despite her calf being a stillbirth). We have a lot of land but most of it is not really in use (my life story is a... long and complicated one but the general gist of it is that we haven't actually been on the farm for most of the time we owned it. I have been here many times but this is the first time I've been here consistently). This year we focused more on construction (I am building a house out of hay- not inspired by the First Little Pig) than agriculture but eventually we should get going. There are quite a lot of fruit and nut (hazel and wallnut) trees as well but mostly we collect for ourselves rather than distribution. It's not exactly a working business (yet) but it's getting there!

AlexFalTalon:Yes Flayface is... calm...

I mean yeah, nothing really happens if he releases Warthog... But can you expect to walk in and make ridiculous demands from a King? And get away with it?

Not too dark I hope! (I always struggle with balancing that out). That said, fair warning it might get a bit darker here...

Enjoy!

The door closed behind the seer and the bodyguard, leaving Flayface (or rather, Fleetfoot) alone with the Wolverine King. Longclaw pushed himself off his throne and once more motioned for the masked 'fox' to draw closer.

One-Eye had been in Longclaw's presence enough times by now to not immediately be put off by the fangs and claws, but he had yet to master the feeling of complete terror that gripped him by the chest whenever they were alone. The King of Ice and Snow was a humongous creature, easily capable of tearing his limbs apart if he so willed.

And what did he want now? The hare doubted it was anything to do with meals. The wording was odd too, what had come to his attention? His heart racing One-Eye had to force his feetpaws forwards. They yearned to turn and run and flee and hide, but many seasons in the Long Patrol had given him full control of his mind and body. If he ran now it would either give the game away completely or draw unnecessary suspicion. If the matter was trivial fleeing could only lead to an investigation... and he doubted his disguise would hold under scrutiny.

So he marched forwards, till he and Longclaw stood face to face. Or as close as face to face as they could be, when one was so much taller than the other.

"You seem to have grown shorter." The wolverine mused, inspecting his claws. "Age getting to you?"

"No sah! Just in me knees."

Longclaw seemed amused by the comment, but did not make any further reply. He placed a strong arm over the fox's shoulders and guided him to another, smaller room. One-Eye was forced to follow. He was surprised, in this close proximity, to find that Longclaw smelled... strange. There was a hint of the usual vermin musk the Captain had been forced to get used to, buried under some strong herbs and the eerily familiar scent of blood. It, like everything else about the Vermin King, sent shivers down his spine.

"I have known you for a long time Flayface, since we were children. I would be lying to you if I did not admit here and now that replacing you would bring great pain."

One-Eye had his doubts about this, but Flayface knew better than to say so. "Good thing that ain't part of yer plan, eh yer Clawliness?" It was surprisingly easy to do a vermin accent in the presence of Longclaw. The wolverine scared all the 'wot's out of him.

"I have heard troubling news... the kitchen slaves... they grow unruly. Something will have to be done about them..."

Fleetfoot dearly hoped the wolverine had not heard him swallow. He opened his mouth to say something, yet found his throat as dry as dusty tome. His heart began to race and his one good eye searched the hallway for escape routes. How carefully planned was this? Had Longclaw perhaps positioned guardbeasts behind the door? Was Spitteeth waiting for him instead?

"But disciplining slaves is not what I wanted to talk about." One-Eye had barely enough time to breathe a silent sigh of relief; they had come to a halt in front of a window. "There they are... Zabal and Chorba..."

Down in the courtyard the fat weasel and slender ermine came into view, dragging a helpless and loudly sobbing (the hare and wolverine could hear his wailing quite clearly from several floors above) Warthog through the wet snow.

"You are not a beast prone to action, which is why I tell you this. These two plot your murder."

One-Eye, who had only a few moments before been terrified of facing an arranged murder, snorted derisively. "Not good at keepin' secrets are they yer Majesty?"

Longclaw smirked. "I am good at finding out things I want to know. My agent informs me that their current plan involves hiring a slave to do you in. Said slave would be under the impression that they'd be freed by their new and noble masters, rather than slain in what Zabal would call 'an act of revenge'." Longclaw sighed. "This is not the first assassination you have faced but be careful. Do not openly antagonize them but keep your wits always about you."

"With all due respect I can handle a slave, yer Clawliness." One-Eye did not bother hiding the amusement in his voice.

"I do not doubt that. But like I said, replacing you will be hard. These other beasts on the other paw... I will need time to find a replacement though. And maybe they will uncover something we have missed. Or our resident Captain-killer might do us a favor and start with the weasel." He waved a paw dismissively, ending the conversation. "I will not steal you from your duties any longer. You are dismissed."

"Aye yer Majesty." 'Flayface' bowed awkwardly and turned away, eager to leave the wolverine's presence. Longclaw called out to him just before he turned the corner.

"Oh and Flayface." The disguised hare and the King each half-turned to face the other. "Do something about that tail." Longclaw wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It looks ghastly."

"And he jumped out the window?" Between his frightening experience in close proximity to the wolverine king, the news of a planned attempt on 'his' life, the strange familiarity of the name Fufret and the arrival of one rather unintelligent toad, One-eye Fleetfoot had arrived at the kitchens exhausted, worn-out and ready for rest. He had promptly been bombarded by slaves both traumatized and excited about a very close run in with some strange vermin.

"Yuzz zuree! Oi've even gotten moiself this 'ere fancy tuney-ic!" A burly mole gestured to the tunic he was wearing- easily the finest piece of clothing in the kitchens.

One-Eye was not entirely even sure what exactly had happened. A shrew had been going on about how he'd been licking a pie or something and the Flitchaye (brought to the kitchens solely for their alleged experience with cutting beasts into something edible) were for some reason chanting in tribal verminspeak. A hedgehog's poor paw had been burnt... somehow... and one of the rats had dented a hare's frying pan with their face. Or had the frying pan dented the rat's face?

"It was a close call." Deathglare spoke in his usual whisper, drawing the attention back to himself in an attempt to quell the excitement. He was one of the few beasts present who liked to look at a glass half-empty. "If Silvertongue had not gotten to the door in time-"

"Ye can thank me later." The weasel said with a grin.

"I don't intend to." The pine marten snapped. He had been finding it harder and harder as of late to maintain his air of calm, quiet confidence. "That beast should not have gotten as close as he did. Imagine if he'd brought Longclaw down upon us." Deathglare's eyes glazed over and gave him the look of a beast half-mad. He resembled a deranged lunatic so much that most of the kitchen slaves began backing off. Silvertongue would have too, but the marten held him firmly by the front. The weasel could not seem to take his eyes away from Deathglare's own. "Imagine the horrible, terrible things he'd do to us all before he put us to death." The pine marten ranted, his voice growing to a steady hiss. "We have killed and cooked almost a dozen of his creatures and fed them to him. We are tearing his boats apart. We are planning to escape and take all his slaves. Do you have any idea how precarious our situation is? We were lucky this time, next time we won't be and if you all-"

"An' if ye talk any louder Deathglare the whole damn castle'll hear ye!" Sick-Eyes snapped loudly. Her voice was like a crack of thunder and at once the spell was broken. The kitchen slaves turned away from the scene and went back to their work stations.

Silvertongue, who had been shrinking into himself and away from the terrible thoughts penetrating his mind, straightened up and roughly pushed Deathglare away. He waved his bandaged paw threateningly. "An' no need te worry yerself Death, nobeast's gonna get in again." He spun on his heel and picked out the first slave he lay eyes on. "Moler Mole, yer in charge of the door. Anybeast strange so much as sticks their nose in I want ye to slam it over all their toes!"

Said 'moler mole', who preferred to go by Dawnsnout (he had a strange yellow mark near the tip of his muzzle) scratched the top of his head with a digging claw."Zlam... wutt zurr?"

"I want ye te slam the door on their face an' crush every toe in their footpaws if they so much as peep inte the kitchens, ye hear me?"

The mole was still confused and frowned deeply. "Purrdon oi zurr, but iffen 'ee could tell oi 'oo 'they'-"

Sick-Eyes rolled her eyes, snatched up a nearby stool, stomped over to the door with all the exxagerated loud stomping an old beast could muster and slammed the same stool upon the ground with enough strength (of will) to behead a badger. "Hey mole, why don't ye sit by this here door, on this here stool?"

Dawnsnout must have thought this a great idea, for he eagerly trotted forwards with a 'thank 'ee marm' followed by a comment about how his knees were tired... or something like that. Sometime molespeech was hard even for hare ears.

The doorway now sufficiently guarded, Silvertongue made his way over to Sickletail without a backwards glance.

Deathglare 'harrumphed' and turned his attention to Fleetfoot. "So how was your day hare?"

"Bally eventful." One-Eye replied, pulling the fox skull off with a loud pop! He sighed in contentment, his ears shooting up to their usual positions. Raising a paw to stroke them, he began listing off the day's events. "A toad showed up at the gates demanding some sort of ransom. Their tribe of Yellowballies or whatsits captured some poor beast called... Fufret I think, wot. Sounds jolly familiar, don't it?"

"Not particularly." In any case Deathglare seemed more interested in his claws.

"Well anyways..." One-Eye wriggled free of the slaver tunic and pulled on the dirty and ragged remains of his Long Patrol uniform. "I met the new Captains, Zibal and Charba or something like that and I am frankly not impressed wot wot. Very rude and demanding, foul of tongue and foul of scent and they have already made plans to dispose of me." He managed to stop himself from saying 'typical vermin'. Somehow he doubted his present company would appreciate the comment.

Now Deathglare seemed interested. He raised an eyebrow. "Truly?"

"Legitimately ole chap, wot wot. Longclaw told me himself don'tcha know? Said they were thinking of using a slave to do me in."

The pine marten snorted and could not hide the smirk that crossed his lips. "Their deceptive ability is one thing we won't have to worry about."

A cry of pain brought the pair's attention (and indeed, nearly every eye in the kitchen) to Silvertongue. The weasel was clutching his bandaged paw and trying desperately to hide the stream of tears slipping down his face. Sickletail was holding a rolling pin in one paw, the other tentatively reaching towards her mate's.

"Nothin' te see here!" Sick-Eyes barked, once more reminding everybeast that she was in charge. "Silver's just broke a claw or somethin'. Back te work!"

You did not need to be a Long Patrol Captain to piece together what had happened. One-Eye frowned as he turned back to Deathglare. "They've been quite argumentative as of late, those two."

Deathglare shrugged. "They're married, it comes with the territory."

Fleetfoot had been married, and did not recall much in the way of argumentativeness. When he said so, the pine marten merely shrugged.

"Woodlanders must be different, but I have not seen a single vermin couple that has not bickered at some point."

One-Eye glanced back to make sure neither weasel was paying attention to them. "Bickered? She nearly flattened his bad paw-"

"And it's hardly the first time." Deathglare rolled his eyes. "Only a few seasons ago she gave him a pair of black eyes. And the season before that she broke his leg. Sickletail is a warrior, hare. She may not mean to hurt him but she does and Silvertongue puts up with it because he knows she would never truly hurt him. Or at least... she never means to. I sometimes feel she does not know her own strength, especially when her judgement is clouded. The stress is likely getting to her... I won't lie it is starting to get to me too."

"Me as well ole chap. Me as well... but I guess we don't really have a choi-"

The black-furred vermin raised a paw for silence. "Please do not comfort me with something I already know. I am keenly aware that nobeast has got a better idea."

The hare rolled his eyes and decided he had had enough of the marten. It had been a long day and he was barely holding back the yawns as it was. "I had better be off then. Wouldn't want to keep Connington w-waaaaaaaaaiting."

"Your bed must not wait too long either." Deathglare remarked, his paws waving Fleetfoot away. "Sleep well hare."